


To Be at Peace with Yourself

by Myou



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Science, Bonding, Character Death, Depression, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Torture, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-06 10:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 24,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myou/pseuds/Myou
Summary: Palette had moved out to a little cabin in the woods three years ago to hone his skills as an artist, sketching and painting the wonders of nature. The last thing he expected to find out there was a small red-scarved skeleton that would change his world.Main story complete. May have bonus chapters written sporadically.Credits: Goth belongs to Nekophy, Palette belongs to Angexci/angeutblogo, Reaper belongs to renrink, Geno belongs to loverofpiggies.





	1. Introductions

After lord knows how many months, I have finally gotten everything set up to where I feel I can post a finished product.  I put quite a bit of research into the story mechanics and clothing style as well as picking out songs and drawing pictures to go with some chapters, so I hope you guys enjoy~

This story takes place roughly in the 1960s-1970s, when technology was not a commonplace thing, only being widely used by big-name corporations that had the space to fit the machines (seriously, computers ranged from microwave size to full floor-to-ceiling appliances) as well as the money to purchase them. 

Be warned, this story deals with subjects that people might find heavy, and bad science abound. Individual warnings will be posted at the top of each chapter.

As stated in the story description, this book will be updated every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday until it is complete. With all that said, let us begin our tale~


	2. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes were made...
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Depression, Suicide ideation, Character death

Heavy sockets slid open, waking up their owner to another monotonous day. The skeleton wondered how he ever managed to sleep, all things considered. 

_Maybe because the calm oblivion is the only place left to find relief... at least when nightmares don't plague me. Those days are the worst._

It was raining again, the soft patter echoing outside the window sill... just like that fateful day. 

_The shutters need to be closed, the curtains are getting wet... but they're already in a moldy and tattered state of disrepair, much like the rest of the cabin._  

Maybe he would do it later... but probably not.

Fuzzy eye lights shifted over to the clock radio on the nightstand. It softly played a somber melody that he couldn't bear to turn off. It fit the current mood, allowing him to drift through his memories of what had been... it was also too much effort to get up. 

_It's the only sound left preventing the silence from consuming me entirely. S_ _ilence reminds me of the horrible reality. It screams the truth of my life._

Noon, the clock read. 

_Maybe I should think about getting up... but what's there to get up for? Anything that might have been worth getting up to is no longer present._  

That day, everything had been lost forever, leaving behind a sad, broken home with an equally sad and broken skeleton. A lonely creature doomed to an eternal hell he couldn't escape.

So he continued to lay in bed, waiting for something... anything to happen. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his skull.

He didn't even have the release of death to look forward to. 

Not being of the mortal world, he had no need to eat or drink. The skeleton simply... existed. Laying in a dilapidated bed in a destroyed home replaying his thoughts and memories. Going through the what-ifs of his pathetic existence.

_What could I have done differently? What would have happened if I had stayed home that day instead? Could I have changed things if I chose a different direction to search? Was any of this been avoidable... or was this just something that was meant to be from the start? Did they truly ever had a chance to be happy?_

All a futile effort, but one that managed to occupy his time if only for a bit.

Dull eye lights scanned the room around him. 

The door hung loosely on one hinge where it was broken long ago, a pile of rotten and maggot-infested rabbit carcasses sitting in the open doorway. Disposing of them seemed too great a task, so he didn't bother even as flies proceeded to make it their nest. 

_At least it's some company._

The torn curtains flapped in the wind, like a ghost of his past relentlessly taunting him. The tattered, wrinkled bedsheets where he currently laid, which were probably in dire need of washing. Broken chairs and an overturned table lay in the corner of the room, never to be used again.

A congealed, moldy pot of... he didn't even know what anymore, sat abandoned on the stove. 

In the past, it was likely a wonderous meal, but now... he couldn't bring himself to touch it, even to clean it up. Something that, once upon a time, would have brought him joy... now not even a starving wild animal would touch it. 

_Wouldn't really blame them._

Everything was layered in a thick blanket of dust. It hurt to think too deeply about it, but even so, he still couldn't motivate himself to remove the offending dirt and grime.

_Not like there's anyone left to care anyway. I certainly don't._

There was a single piece of furniture that was spared the chaos, the rest copiously riddled with holes and gashes. 

_Partially my husband's handiwork. There's no way in hell he would have gone down without a fight._   _The room's a clear testament to that._

The one thing he managed to salvage and take care of in that cabin, despite his lack of enthusiasm towards everything else, sat nestled in a corner.

A small worn dresser, holding a long, dust-filled urn, a folded white coat with a rusty old stain on the front, and a framed drawing... the only remnants of the family he lost. 

_The only things I have left to care about._    

He stared at the crude drawing far longer than anyone would consider healthy, but he didn't care.

Rolling off the bed, the monster trudged toward the makeshift shrine, his gaze hovering over each item. The frame held it the longest, containing a rough crayon doodle of what had once portrayed their family, created by his then five-year-old son.

The child was so proud of his work, dancing around the house in glee. His mother had chuckled at the display, digging through their modest closet and pulling out a worn frame. The way the boy's eyes shined at that moment made the stars above cry out in jealousy.

A sad smile pulled at his face.

That had been twelve years ago. His son would have turned seventeen by now if he were alive. Tears welled up in his heavily bagged sockets. 

_It's all gone... and it'll never return._

Falling to his knees, a strained sob ripped through his throat as boney fingers scraped against the filthy wooden floor. He didn't know he still had tears left to cry... but they still came out, all the same, blurring his vision.

Skull thunking the wood below him, the despaired god whimpered, "Geno... Goth... I'm so sorry..."

 


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom is sought...
> 
> Chapter Warning: Implied neglect and abuse

The hum of electricity, ever-present throughout the building, went eerily silent with a deafening clunk. The noise jolted a small skeleton out of his fitful sleep.

Pulling himself up from the worn sheets on his sad excuse for a bed, he hesitantly looked around. It was dark and various shouts could be heard in the distance. They didn't sound happy in the slightest.

_What?_

Carefully moving towards the bars of his 'room', Something caught his eye in the cracked wall mirror... or rather, a lack of something in the darkness.

_Collar... no more light!_

Hastily, the boy summoned his magic, letting out a shaky laugh when a bone construct successfully materialized, creating a dim glow in the darkness. 

He wasted no time wedging it into a crevice of the black metallic ring, reveling in the hiss of electricity as the shrapnel broke off and fell away.

_No more shock._

Summoning more bones, he launched them at the bars before him. It created a cacophonous series of clangs, but the skeleton didn't care at this point. This was his chance, and he wouldn't waste the opportunity.

A hole just big enough to fit through was visible and he fought to contain his excitement. 

_Get out... free..._

Before he was able to crawl through the opening, his thoughts turned to a red scrap of cloth still laying on his bed.

The bad people called it a scarf. He had no idea where it came from... only that it was important and comforting to him. That, and trying to think about its origin too hard made his skull throb in unexplained pain. As if his mind was trying to punish him for his probing.

Nobody had been willing to educate him on it, either... and he knew better than to ask more than once. The bad people preferred compliance over curiosity from their test subjects.

The one time the scientists tried to take the cloth away from him, he'd fought back and was punished. It put him out of commission for two days. It wasn't a result anyone wanted, it was easier to let him have the scarf... he had to be thankful for that one allowance.

In his melancholy, a holed hand absently rubbed at one of the hairline fractures littering his bones under his clothes, as if the action would soothe away the phantom ache. 

_No more hurt..._

Feeling exposed without the black collar around his neck, he took the red cloth and draped it around himself and peered in the mirror. It complemented his grungy and ripped sleeveless white gown in a way he couldn't describe. 

_Soft... nice..._

A shout caused him to jump, startling him from his musing. The bad people!

Quickly slipping through the bars, bare feet clicked down the deserted hallway away from the voices and the direction of the examination rooms. 

The skeleton had no idea where he was going now, running around a veritable maze of doors and cells he'd never been escorted past. He only prayed that he would somehow stumble upon the exit to this place.

His soul shuddered when a noise was heard at the other end. 

_Mad... get away!_

Backtracking down another corridor, the noises behind him grew in volume. 

_No more! No again... now free! Go out, no more hurt!_

The skeleton wanted to cry as he came upon a set of metal doors with buttons and a rectangular pad like the on the door of his room. Hitting the buttons and pressing his hand to the pad did nothing, just like the other one. Prying his fingers into the slats between the metal to pull it open proved useless as well.

_No... why no out? Want get out!_

As he made to retreat the way he'd come, angry voices echoed down the hall. He heard his name. His magic crackled and sparked with his raised emotions. He wrapped his arms around himself as if the action would hide him somehow.

_No again... They hurt again! They shock, beat, cut... no again!_

_Want get out... want go... no want here... **no want here**!_

Clenching his eyes shut his magic flared, responding to his panic, and he felt the world twist and warp around him. 

A burst of sudden color sent his world into a disorienting spiral.

He stumbled, gasping for breath, squinting at the bright and colorful surroundings assaulting his senses.

_Where... I... out? ... free?_

Leaning against a brown and green object, he panted, trying to process his new surroundings through the dizziness that overtook him.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to push himself forward only to fall with a pained grunt. Everything swam in an amalgamation of color. He groaned, his swirling vision making his non-existent stomach roil.

As his surroundings slowly faded, something stirred in the distance. His efforts to pick himself back up failed as his body no longer responded to his wishes despite the muted panic coursing through him. 

_Bad people... no... getaway... why...... nomove...... I......_


	4. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first meeting...

A pencil idly scratched away on a piece of paper. The boney hand attached to the pencil paused, its owner pushing up the brown hat blocking his eye sockets and taking in the scenery before him. He smiled at the serenity it radiated.

Palette originally moved out here because of the beautiful sceneries that made for plenty of gorgeous art opportunities. It was the best decision he ever made.

The waterfall tossing up flecks of water a distance away was one such wonder. A small ring of white flowers lined the edges of the pond below and some shiny fishes were just barely visible from his sitting position. It was truly a sight the artist had to get on paper. One that he hoped would sell for a lot of money. 

_I have to pay for my electricity and the goods not available in a wooded area somehow._

The skeleton had already made a name for himself in the town an hour out from his home, so it wasn't hard to find a willing customer during the times he occasionally decided to go to market. A nice old lady in town had even been willing to provide materials for a stand whenever the need arose.

_All in all, I'm pretty well off._

His mom was skeptical about him living by himself so far away from civilization, but Palette rather enjoyed it.

_It's calm and peaceful, perfect for concentrating on my craft. I really don't mind not having constant interaction with people._

As much as his mother lamented their son never settling down with that special someone due to the isolation, he just couldn't bring himself to be interested in romance. Not when there was so much beauty to capture on paper.

Bringing his pencil back down to the sketchpad, a present from his dad on his tenth birthday seven years ago, the monster sketched the outer edges of the pond, noting how the grass peeking through the flowers drooped over toward the water. A gentle wind occasionally blew on the blades, dipping them into the pond and creating ripples the fish would flock to in hopes of a meal.

_Truly a peaceful scene._

As Palette proceeded to sketch the creatures inside the pond, a noise in the distance piqued his interest.

_It sounded like a grunt. Is someone else out here? It certainly doesn't sound like any animal I know._

Tucking his sketchbook and art supplies into his leather messenger bag, he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and went to investigate the sound. A pained groan to his left confirmed his direction, quickening his steps. 

There was a huge bush that way. Whatever had made the noise came from behind there. Pulling aside the foliage, the artist was shocked to find a skeleton laying on the ground.

"Woah," Palette gasped, stepping through the brush and jogging over to the body. He turned them onto their back, checking their vitals.

The stranger was breathing, so that was a good sign. On the other hand, they were definitely sporting a couple unsettling marks on their arms, legs, and skull. That, combined with their state of dress, made the skeleton frown. 

_Who are they?_ _In any case, I can't leave them on the ground._

Grabbing their shoulders, he carefully pulled the unconscious monster into a sitting position.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable," the artist muttered, pulling their arms over his shoulders until their body was draped across his back. Leaving the arms to dangle against his chest, he linked his hand together underneath them, standing up slowly.

_They're too light... I feel like they should be heavier._

Once he assured his bag wouldn't fall off his shoulder, Palette began his trek toward home, the strange newcomer in tow.


	5. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are everything...

The skeleton before Palette was a mystery. 

While the markings had been a concern, the stranger wasn't unconscious because of an injury. His condition came from a lack of magical energy. Luckily, despite the amount of lost magic, he wasn't in any danger.

_What was he doing to end up in this state? And where in the world did he come from?_  

As far as the artist knew, no one lived within an hour of here... and it's not like the forest was a popular tourist site. Though Palette doubted the skeleton on his bed was a tourist, judging by his clothing. 

_Who would travel into the woods in only a dirty sleeveless dress and a torn scarf? The thought alone is absurd!_

It was also absurd how flustered he got undressing his mystery guest to check for injuries. The skeleton had a much thinner bone structure and was a bit smaller in size, but he looked to be a boy just like Palette, around his age too. 

_What's there to be embarrassed about?!_

What he had found under the clothing quickly sobered his thoughts, however. The markings extended to the boy's ribs, revealing half-healed cracks and faded burn marks. He didn't like the implications one bit.

Pulling the blanket up to their sternum, Palette ventured over to his dresser. He didn't have the soul to put his guest back in ratty clothing after undressing him, so he pulled one of his white button-down shirts and a pair of work khakis from his dresser to replace the torn outfit. 

The ruined clothes went in the trash bin as Palette pulled back the covers once more to redress the small monster.

Threading the last button of the shirt, he laid the skeleton back down and contemplated his options. His guest was smaller and thinner, so the shirt was long and baggy on them... the pants would never stay up without a belt. Palette decided to forgo the pants for now, given the shirt nearly fell almost to their kneecaps like the dress had. 

_Hopefully, they won't mind only having the shirt until I can dig out a spare belt._

Turning away from the bed, Palette went to go make some lunch. With how wiry the stranger was, he would surely be hungry once he woke up.

"Something simple... but easy on the stomach would work best," Palette murmured, sifting through his food cupboard. In the end, he decided on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches since he wasn't sure how long his guest would be sleeping. He wouldn't have to worry about the food going cold or spoiling. Pulling out two plates and the ingredients he needed, the artist got to work.

Soon, two plates with three triangular sandwiches each and two cups of water were set down on the table. He dug into his own food while he waited for the other to awaken. 

He was halfway through his second sandwich and half a glass of water when he heard a muffled groan from the bed.

Jumping up, he abandoned his lunch and made his way over to the waking monster. He watched with an excited smile on his face as the stranger's eye sockets fluttered, gradually opening. Fuzzy white eye lights slid over to meet Palette's.

He had expected confusion, maybe a question from his guest... what he got was unbridled terror.

The moment their eye lights met, the smaller gasped, launching a bone attack while throwing themselves away from him, falling off the bed with a resounding clatter. The artist ducked, eye sockets wide as the attack dissipated before it even hit the wall. 

Shaking off his shock, he stood up from his crouched position. "Hey, are you okay?" the artist called out, moving around the bed to check the smaller skeleton. 

He stopped dead in his tracks as his guest backed up into the corner where the bed met the wall, breathing heavily and shaking... all while glaring at him, their magic crackling around them in short, threatening bursts.

"Hey, easy there... I'm not going to hurt you," Palette said softly as he advanced, hands up, only to receive a growl in return.

_Okay, bad idea... I need a new plan._

"Umm... my name's Palette. What's yours?" An awkward silence followed with only the sound of the smaller skeleton's hurried breathing, "Can you talk?". The skeleton didn't utter a word, his focus never leaving the artist.

Rubbing the back of his skull, Palette decided to change the subject, "Guess not... in any case, you must be hungry. I made some sandwiches.... they're really good, help yourself." 

He didn't miss the jolt from his guest as he turned around to retrieve their plate... but the monster didn't attack.

_A good start...  Or maybe he's too weak to do more. Maybe the magic around him's a bluff._

Picking up the plate from the table, Palette returned to the small skeleton and held the dish out to them. The stranger made no move to take the plate, his gaze flicking between Palette and the food.

"It's really good, try it," he urged, setting the plate on the floor and pushing it toward the frightened skeleton. He took a seat two feet away from the plate, giving it plenty of space. They both sat there, a conflicted look rising on the smaller's face as if weighing his options. 

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," Palette chuckled nervously.

After about five minutes, the small skeleton eased his left arm out, jerking the plate toward himself. 

_Does he think I'll take it away?_

The small skeleton sniffed at the sandwich, turning it over in his hands before taking a hesitant bite... his sockets widened. Before Palette could question him, he began wolfing down the meal. 

The artist grinned, "Heh... guess you were hungry after all."

As soon as his guest finished the food, he stared at the plate. There was a certain sense of longing in that look. "Are... are you still hungry?" the artist ventured. The skeleton looked up with a searching expression before hesitantly giving a slow nod. 

_He can understand me, at least._

Palette stood, grabbed his plate with the remaining one and a half sandwiches. That was placed in front of the monster, being dragged over much quicker than before and eaten with just as much fervor.

With all the food eaten, his attention became drawn to his clothing. Rather than embarrassment at being redressed, his skull jerked around, his expression clearly one of distress. "What's wrong?" Palette questioned, moving to get up.

He got another growl in return but was able to notice how the boy's hands, containing a hole in the center of each of them, were grasping at his neck. 

_The scarf?_

Walking over to the trash can, the artist pulled out the tattered red scarf, "If this what you-!". 

His guest pounced just as Palette turned around, ripping the fabric from his grip and retreating back to the corner. The monster glared daggers, clutching the fabric to his chest. Under that anger, their expression also held a hint of... fear?

Palette huffed in resignation. This likely wouldn't be resolved in one sitting.


	6. Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made...
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Implied abuse

Palette sat in his chair at his workstation, paper in front of him, watching his guest scarf down a stack of pancakes. 

He couldn't tell if they were shy or just couldn't speak since they hadn't uttered a single word since waking up that first day. Questions were usually met with staring or shakes and nods, so it seemed the smaller could at least understand words.

The stranger was more of an observer, he noticed, watching the artist's movements like a hawk. Even now, his eye lights kept alternating between his breakfast and the taller skeleton. 

It was as if he thought Palette would swoop in and steal his meal... like he had to stay on guard.

The first three days, any type of sudden move would prompt a defensive reaction, usually causing his guest to hide behind something afterward. By the fourth day, his curiosity began winning out over fear. 

The key seemed to be not getting too close. As long as he gave the monster space, they usually didn't have a problem. Palette also had to rely heavily on subtle visual cues to figure out if the skeleton wanted something... though even if asked, he was hesitant to respond.

Food had much to do with his newfound comfort, his eyes shining whenever the artist cooked  _anything_. Peanut butter and jelly seemed like a favorite, but pancakes with syrup seemed to be the winning combination considering the small skeleton was currently on their third helping. 

_Watching him eat, the honest enjoyment on his face is kind of cute. If only he didn't act so afraid..._

Palette wasn't sure how to feel about that, along with what it probably meant when combined with the stranger's other worrisome quirks.

The small skeleton also seemed to be interested in his art. He never drew, merely looking through the sketchbook, always when the artist wasn't present. Palette took to watching covertly from the doorframe since his arrival would usually prompt the smaller to hurriedly put the sketchbook down and run away. From the confusion on his face, his guest didn't seem to know what to make of the sketches.

After the first few times, the artist set some paper and a dulled pencil out on the table. Once Palette walked away, his guest pounced, clearly attempting to mimic the things he'd seen the other doing. 

What had resulted was a slew of random shapes and scribbles... though what got Palette's attention was how the paper ended up on his workstation, as if he wanted the artist to see it.

He could have sworn he saw a smile cross their face upon praising them.

_Maybe he's finally realizing I mean no harm? Why he thinks I would harm him in the first place... I'm not sure I want the answer._

For now, he would give the small monster his space and let him do what he pleased as long as he wasn't hurting himself... and give him fourths on pancakes if the way he was staring at the plate said anything.

"Do you want some more pancakes...?" Palette paused for a moment, coming up empty. He rubbed the back of his skull with his hand, "I'm going to have to figure out a name to call you." 

Tilting his chair back, his gaze drifted to the ceiling as his mouth quirked in thought...

"...G01H..."

The sound was so soft Palette almost didn't hear it. When he realized what had occurred, he nearly tipped his chair backward in surprise. Flailing about to regain his balance, he gaped at the skeleton once he was upright, "You  _can_  talk?"

The smaller nodded slowly.

"Wow...," Palette muttered, "and here I thought you were mute or didn't know how to talk. What made you change your mind?" 

His guest stared at his plate, his sockets furrowing as if contemplating his next words, "You... no get mad... no hurt... or... make do things. You nice... you... no them."

_Them?_

"Who's 'them'?" he probed. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he made a mistake. The other skeleton had hunched down, head bowed and body shaking with tears forming in his sockets. 

Palette was about to wave off the question when the small monster softly replied, "Bad people... they... they hurt... they p... pain..." He clenched his sockets and whimpered, "I... I no like them!"

Easing himself out of his chair, Palette slowly walked over and crouched down by the shivering monster. The smaller flinched but didn't move as the artist soothed, "Well, you never have to see 'them' ever again if you don't want to... G01H? Is that what they call you?"

Another slow nod. Palette scrunched up his face.

"That name sounds  _way_  too impersonal. We'll have to change that. A new name for a new start! How about that?" Receiving a slightly confused nod, he pulled a piece of paper from his sketchpad, writing out 'G01H'. 

Staring at it, he muttered different words, writing each one down and getting a feel for the sound as his guest watched on in guarded curiosity. This went on for roughly three minutes, with the smaller skeleton inching closer as time ticked by.

It wasn't until Palette voiced one in particular that he got a reaction from them... a tiny jolt followed by a wide-socketed gaze. 

"Did you like that one?" he questioned. The boy didn't respond for a few seconds, too fixated on the written word. 

Moments later, the daze he'd fallen into lifted and he tested the word himself. Please with the result, he nodded his head.

"Goth... yeah, that's a good name, I like it!" Palette beamed, "So Goth, do you want that fourth helping of pancakes?"

A tiny smile graced the small skeleton's face, "... yes."

 


	7. Ill Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some men pay a visit...

Ever since Goth's name change, their interactions became much more amicable. He was still a skeleton of few words but was noticeably more comfortable with Palette's presence now, only flinching on very rare occasions.

He even took to looking over the artist's shoulder when the skeleton would paint at his workstation. It would have been mildly amusing to see Goth try to taste the paint if it weren't for the lead... that exploration was quickly snuffed. 

_It's weird to think that Goth's only been here for a week._

It was during one of his art sessions that an innocent question revealed the skeleton's startling lack of knowledge of the world around them. More questions revealed he knew basic terms like 'bed', 'table', and 'food', but words such as 'pencil', 'house', and 'tree' were only met with confusion. 

A quick test confirmed Goth couldn't read, which meant he probably couldn't write either. Palette would have to remedy that in the near future.

_Goth looks to be around my age... did no one ever teach him?_  

The questions just kept piling up and began to paint a dark picture of these 'bad people'.

At the moment, the pair were in the process of washing and drying the dishes that had been used for dinner that evening. Palette washed, Goth dried and placed them on a rack to be stored away later. 

The process lulled them into a soothing silence... until a knock rattled the door.

Before Palette could even turn around, a plate smashed against the floor as Goth took off, diving behind the nearby bed. He glared at the door in fear and animosity.

Palette grimaced at the anxious monster. While he'd grown used to the artist, it seemed he was still wary of anything and everything else.

"It's okay, Goth," the tall skeleton murmured, walking to the door, "I'll handle it."

Opening the door, Palette was immediately disconcerted by the presence of three men decked out in grey and black body armor. He could see a pistol nestled in a clipped holster attached to one's belt. He tried to ignore it, attempting a pleasant smile instead.

"Can I help you?" Palette asked cautiously, gripping the wooden frame with his left hand.

"Yes," one of the men replied, his helmet and visor blocking his face, "we're on the lookout for a highly dangerous experiment that escaped recently. We have reason to believe it's still somewhere in the area around here. Its appearance is a skeleton monster like you, a bit shorter, possibly in the possession of a red scarf. Have you seen anything fitting that description lately?"

The skeleton fought a flinch, purposefully not looking toward the bed. 

_These people are looking for Goth. The 'bad people'..._

"N...no. I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual trees and mountain," he lied, hoping his slight stutter didn't give him away.

He actually hadn't been out of the house since Goth arrived, too focused on watching over him. Palette had a surplus of sketches he could transfer to canvases at home, so there was no need to leave for new drawing ideas.

The man with the gun stepped forward, clearing his throat, "I'd like to reiterate that the creature we're looking for is very dangerous and has the potential to cause massive damage. Failure to report information would lead to disastrous consequences."

The skeleton narrowed his eye lights. 

_Did they figure it out? No, they're armed and I'm not. If they thought I was lying, they'd be forcing their way into the house. Goth's still safe._

"You've made that very clear," he replied, keeping his face neutral. After a tense minute, the third man pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Palette, "If you see or hear anything suspicious, give this number a call... I trust you have a phone?"

"Yes," he answered curtly, taking the paper slip, "Is that all?"

The men stood in silence. For a second, Palette worried they were going to force their way in anyway. Instead, they turned and began to walk away, one of them muttering, "We'll be in touch."

Before Palette could shut the door, the man with the firearm turned around, "By the way, we heard a crash earlier... is everything alright?"

The artist clenched the paper in his fist. 

_Keep calm... it's just an innocent question..._

"Your knock startled me and I dropped the plate I was cleaning. I don't get many visitors out here,"he replied, using a partial truth to cover himself.

"I see... I apologize for taking up your time. Have a good evening," the man grunted, turning to follow the others. Palette kept a straight face as he shut the door. 

Once it was closed, however, his knees gave out as he slid to the floor, dread flooding him while Goth's words drifted through his thoughts.

_'They hurt... they p... pain... I... I no like them!'_

_Goth! I nearly forgot!_

Pushing himself off the door, he tossed the crumpled slip of paper in the trash and made his way over to the bed. 

Both sides were empty.

"Goth?" he called with a muted tone, in case the men were still nearby. A small whine was heard from under the bed. Getting down on his hands and knees, he looked to see two faint pinpricks staring back at him, wavering in the darkness of the bed's shadows.

"I sorry...," the small monster whimpered, "I sorry break."

_The plate?_

"Oh Goth," he sighed, gingerly reaching a hand out to the trembling monster, "It's okay, you didn't mean it. I'm not mad."

Slowly, the skeleton made his way out from under the bed. Palette waited patiently as he emerged, tear tracks lining his cheeks. Deciding to take a risk, the taller skeleton wrapped an arm around the smaller, bringing him into a gentle hug.

Goth tensed but didn't pull away. Instead, he hesitantly reciprocated the embrace. When nothing happened, he buried his face in Palette's sternum, shivering as new tears soaked into the taller's shirt.

The next hour was spent on the floor hugging, shushing, and whispering assurances to the smaller. The broken dish laid forgotten in the kitchen.


	8. Outing (Yourself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started so innocently...
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Serious Injury, Blood (Marrow?)

 

Since the three men visited, Goth had become anxious once more.

Palette attempted to distract him with learning about the different objects around the house and learning to read and write. He was pretty quick at learning the names of objects, but reading and writing was a slow process.

By the end of the second week, he'd only managed to learn to read his own name and Palette's name but he was ecstatic nonetheless. The artist made sure to praise his efforts. Encouragement would lead to progression, after all, and everyone had to start somewhere.

Goth was also progressing rapidly in properly wording his sentences as well as expanding his vocabulary, only making a mistake on occasion. He would even pull out a big word every so often, citing that he heard the bad people use it.

At the start of the third week, the small skeleton inquired about the objects outside. Palette surmised it was time for a field trip... a small one. There was no telling if the men were still poking around.

Stepping out the front door, Goth jumped at the feel of the grass on his bare feet and the wind blowing at his oversized shirt. He wiggled his toes, his socket growing wide and a smile beginning to creep along his face.

The next half hour was a repetition of 'what's this?' while Palette busied himself with weeding the garden and picking the ripe vegetables. It had been a while since he'd tended to it or gathered food. Having another mouth to feed was depleting his supplies faster than normal, so he would need to head into town soon.

_I don't think Goth would do well with crowds... would I be able to leave him here alone?_

Eventually, the inquiries led to a large apple tree. Once Goth learned the apples could be eaten, there was no stopping him from climbing the tree.

Chuckling, Palette went to go get another basket since the one he had was full of vegetables.

By the time he got back, the small skeleton was already a third of the way up the tree. It was actually pretty amazing how good he was at climbing _._ He was like a little monkey!

Goth picked the apples Palette instructed were the ripe ones and tossed them down... it was a much more efficient system than doing it by himself, where Palette would haul the basket around with him. This method proved much faster at gathering food.

As he climbed higher and higher, Palette began to grow worried about the strength of the branches.

The artist gasped when one bent under the smaller's weight, "Wait, stop-"

His soul stuttered as the limb snapped, sending Goth and the branch plummeting to the ground with a yelp. Before Palette could even move, Goth hit the ground, letting out a gut-wrenching scream.

The branch that had given way landed first, lodging itself in Goth's chest and through his back once he followed, a thin rod dripping red to match his scarf.

"Oh... Oh, stars...," Palette murmured frantically, unsure of what to do.

_I know basic first aid, but nothing about impalement! The nearest hospital's more than an hour away, he won't-_

"T... take...," Goth wheezed, coughing a light spray of marrow into the grass and catching the other skeleton's attention.

"What is it?" Palette urged, kneeling down.

"Takeitout," He gasped. The artist froze.

_Pull it out? But if I do that, he'll bleed out! He'll die!_

Receiving a vigorous head shake in disapproval, Goth reached for him with a painfully imploring expression, "P... please... t... takeit... out. Hurts... can'theal... b... blocking...  _please_."

_Heal? What...?_

Goth whined in discomfort. Despite his better judgment, Palette rolled Goth onto his side, grabbing the stained branch with one hand and steadying Goth with the other. "R... ready?" his voice shook along with his hands as the small monster nodded.

_I can't believe I'm doing this..._

In a swift motion, the branch was removed. Another howl of pain ripped from the small skeleton, the baggy white shirt quickly becoming soaked in crimson-colored marrow.

Palette reached up to his scarf with unsteady hands, hastily attempting to unwind it for something to block the open holes in his companion's chest and back.

_I can wrap his chest and get him in the truck. I might be able to-_

With a grunt, Goth clenched his sockets as light purple magic began to gather around his frame. The artist's movements slowed to a stop.

As he watched, the magic collected at his companion's back... and large black wings formed. Palette continued to stare with wide sockets as the wings glowed softly, along with the area around Goth's chest and back where the branch had been. Slowly but surely, the wounds seemed to disappear, healing right in front of him!

After a minute, the glow faded. The wings lingered, though they were slowly losing their form.

_Such long, slender feathers with an ebony sheen. They look like they're dancing in the light. They're beautiful, just like..._

"An angel...," Palette whispered.

Goth flinched. "N... no...," the small skeleton gasped sharply, panting from exertion, "n... not... thatword..."

"Why?" the other questioned, confusion replacing awe.

"... Bad p... people... useit... don't... l... likeit..." the skeleton moaned, slightly curling in on himself as the wings dissipated. Palette's mouth clamped shut, expression falling at the mention of the bad people.

Goth's eye sockets began to droop as fatigue washed over him. Picking up the trembling monster, Palette rushed into the house and laid him gently on the bed.

"Come on, Goth, stay with me. I'll figure something out, just...," Palette proclaimed but was at a loss for what to actually do.

_I've got nothing. I have no idea what to do!_

Goth smiled weakly as tears crept into the Palette's sockets, his voice barely above a whisper when he said, "s'ok... I... okay... jus'tired... can't...d... die... jus'..."

Palette's panic renewed when the small skeleton's voice faded and their sockets closed. It took him a few seconds to realize they were only sleeping.

The skeleton's last words confused him but explained the much of the earlier phenomenon.

_He healed himself... and he can't die? He seems to be sleeping, so I guess he's really okay._

Grabbing one of the chairs from the table, he pulled it over to the bed and sat down. Time fell to a crawl as he waited for his companion to rouse once more, with only the sounds of buzzing electricity from the clock radio on his nightstand and the resting skeleton's breathing to keep him company.

\---

Four hours later, Goth awoke to a frazzled Palette. After roughly two minutes spent making sure the smaller was actually fine, the worried skeleton requested an explanation for what had transpired.

"I... I have a... an ability, they said," the small monster began slowly, laying on the bed since he was still a bit dizzy, nervously playing with his scarf and refusing eye contact, "I can't be killed... most damage to my body heals by itself... that's why the bad people want me... they want it."

As the explanation wore on, Palette was able to piece together that Goth had the power to heal himself and others, the wings he created earlier making it easier to channel his energy effectively.

He had no idea how he gained this ability, it was there for as long as he could remember and that it was a subconscious reaction of his magic whenever he was injured, as long as there was nothing obstructing the process.

The bad people were trying to figure out how to reproduce his regenerative abilities to use for themselves by performing tests on him... tests that, in Palette's opinion, sounded like flat-out torture.

Palette squirmed as the small skeleton delved into the grim nature of his experiences, not noticing how he'd grabbed Goth's hand and had begun rubbing circles around the hole in it with his thumb when the smaller began tearing up.

The abused skeleton choked out a sob, the memories strangling his thoughts and overwhelming him.

Palette leaned down to pull him upright and into a hug. It was difficult to stomach the idea of his friend being experimented on.

_It explains so much of his previously aggressive behavior and nervous quirks..._

Goth fell silent, latching onto the other and enjoying the warm arms wrapped around him. Hugs were still a new experience, but certainly a welcome one.

Once he calmed down, Goth wiped his face clean and stood up with a wobble, getting assistance from Palette.

A new problem quickly became apparent, though: Goth needed new clothes. His shirt was ruined by the rusty dark stain surrounding a ragged hole.

Goth was dismayed at the sight, new tears beginning to form. Palette managed to wave off his apologies before he could get too worked up, "It's just a shirt, I have tons of them. At least now we can find something more appropriate."

_Something better than an oversized shirt, at least..._

Letting the small skeleton rummage through his drawers and wardrobe, Goth eventually pulled out a white coat that was usually reserved for winter. His eye lights shined so brightly as he turned in askance, Palette didn't have the soul to say no. Moreso when he stated his desire to cover himself.

A belt was pulled out alongside some khakis that could be rolled up to fit him and a white tank top. 

To Palette's embarrassment, Goth seemed to have no sense of body-shy, stripping right in front of his host. Trying his best not to stare, Palette helped him into his new clothing, adjusting the belt and rolling up the pant legs so he could move around without tripping.

The clothes were still too big for him, of course, but Goth was too excited to care. He had already been through so much, Palette couldn't take this small happiness away from him.


	9. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't always what they seem...

A loud boom reverberated through the cabin, jolting Goth from his sleep. 

His eye lights darted around the room in a frenzy, trying to identify the threat within the darkness. When nothing rose up to attack him, his soul's hammering pace slowed under the loose tank top he had borrowed.

Taking in his surroundings, everything was still including his companion Palette. He was currently sleeping on a couch by the door, snoring away softly without a care in the world. 

Not surprising considering it was the middle of the night.

The artist had graciously offered his bed to Goth, even after the small skeleton had gotten over his trust issues. His guilt was sated by comments about buying another bed once he went to 'town'. According to Palette's description, it was a place with lots of people living close together. 

Goth wasn't sure how to feel about the idea of more people...

Another boom drew a squeak from the skeleton as he burrowed under the covers for safety, clutching at his scarf. Silence returned and Goth peeked out from the folds of his blanket. 

There were sounds outside... it sounded like water. 

_Something's... leaking? Is that the right word?_

A flash outside caused him to jump, sending him backward and off the bed with an unceremonious thud. 

As a rumbling motion shook the floor, Goth stumbled to his feet, quickly making his way over to his still-sleeping friend with his blanket wrapped securely around him. 

_How can Palette ignore this noise?!_

Reaching the skeleton, the smaller prodded his shoulder while urgently whispering, "Palette... Palette, wake up! Please wake up, something's outside!"

After a few seconds, the taller's sockets clenched, then slid open. It took a moment for his eye lights to appear and focus, still hazy from sleep, "Wha... Goth...?" As his sleep-fogged mind processed the small skeleton's words, the stars took on a sharp edge as he sat up, "Something? What did you see? Is it the bad people?"

"I don't know!" the scarved monster whispered frantically, clutching the blanket around him to hide his shaking, "I heard noises outside, something's leaking, there were lights flashing, and the house was shaking!" 

Looking to the window, Palette slowly came to a realization, "Goth... that's just rain... thunder and lightning. It's called a thunderstorm. It's saf-"

A flash of lightning lit up the room, cutting off the skeleton's words. Goth launched himself into the taller monster's chest, whimpering as a rumble of thunder shook the cabin. Palette automatically wrapped his arms around the smaller, bringing him into a hug. 

When Palette thought about it, this was probably the first time the smaller monster had ever experienced a thunderstorm. It's no surprise he would be scared of something he didn't understand.

As another flash and boom prompted another fearful whine, Palette stood up. Holding the trembling skeleton, blanket and all, he made his way back to the bed. 

Palette placed the smaller on the bed, leaving space to lay down before pulling him into another hug. Goth nestled into the taller's chest, shivering as he grasped at their tank top.

Fighting a light blush at the smaller skeleton's proximity, Palette rubbed along their spine in a soothing motion as the rain poured down outside. He grimaced as each flash of lightning and boom of thunder renewed Goth's fear despite his presence. Without some type of intervention, neither skeleton would get any sleep tonight.

"It's alright Goth, we're safe as long as we're inside," he murmured. Suddenly, an idea struck Palette, "Hey, would it help if I told you about what's happening outside?" 

A hesitant nod prompted him to continue, "Okay, so that light you see outside is called lightning. There are tiny little particles you can't see inside the clouds in the sky that build up electricity."

"Electricity...," Goth interrupted softly, pausing as another flash went off, "l...like the stuff in the lamp?"

"Yup. It builds up inside the clouds, and when it has enough, the electricity leaves the cloud and comes down so fast it superheats the air around it," Palette explained as the thunder boomed, "Then, once the lightning's gone, cold air rushes in to fill the space, collides with the hot air, and makes that booming noise called thunder.

"You can actually play a game with the lightning and thunder. When you see the lightning, you count how long it takes for the thunder to come after. Using that, you can see how close or how far away the storm is. The longer the time between the lightning and thunder, the farther away the storm is."

Palette had to suppress a chuckle when Goth perked up at the mention of a game. By now, he had loosened his grip on the taller's tank top, watching the window hesitantly. He still flinched when the next flash of lightning went off, but he relaxed as the artist began to count, "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8..."

A boom sounded, slightly rattling the cabin. Palette smiled when Goth didn't flinch this time, "That took longer than the last one. That means it's moving away."

"What about the leaking?" Goth questioned, no longer trembling, even when a flash of lightning went off outside.

"That's called rain," Palette supplied, "Water from the ground rises up into the clouds. When the clouds get too full, the water comes back out as rain. It won't hurt you... rain's actually really good for the trees and the plants in our garden. Rain helps them grow."

"Oh...," the smaller yawned, his sockets drooping a bit as his fear ebbed away. The lightning was nothing more than a faint flicker and the thunder no more than a dull rumble in the distance as Goth's breathing even out and he drifted back to sleep.

Palette yawned as well, moving to settle in. 

While he figured Goth wouldn't be scared if he woke up again now that he knew what was happening, Palette didn't want to risk it. He also had to admit the positioning was very comfortable, and the bed made for a much better sleeping surface than the couch.

Curling up next to his companion, Palette let himself drift off to the sounds of the rain.


	10. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn something new every day...

"This is a lake?" Goth asked, his eye lights glittering as he turned to Palette for confirmation. 

"Yup," the taller laughed, "You can take a closer look if you want, I need to find a drawing spot. You might even see some fish in the water if you're lucky. Just be careful not to fall in, it can get deep in some spots." 

One of their learning sessions had left Palette dumbfounded that the smaller didn't know what a lake was. Given his circumstances and the general lack of any knowledge outside of basic living, the artist really shouldn't have been surprised. 

And so, Palette decided another field trip was in order.

_I needed more sample sketches for my paintings anyway since I finished transferring the last image to canvas yesterday._

He positioned himself against a tree in the shade, pulling out his drawing materials as Goth dashed to the edge of the small lake, crouching down while keeping his scarf from dipping into the water. His eye lights shined in the sunlight as he rolled up a sleeve and dipped a finger into the water.

The taller skeleton groused a bit when a slight wind blew his hat forward, blocking his view of the scene. 

Goth had begun filching the hat on occasion, claiming that he liked the feel of it. Palette had been willing to let him keep it, but the smaller skeleton always gave it back eventually. He said he already borrowed so much from the artist, so it didn't feel right to take his hat too. 

Goth refused shoes as well for this reason, though he also preferred the feel of the ground under his feet, which Palette couldn't fault.

Since the storm, Goth had taken to making Palette sleep with him on the bed. He claimed it was because the bed was more comfortable than the couch, which was true... but he knew the real reason was that the attention-starved monster enjoyed the company.

Palette never fought that hard against it seeing as he now woke up with less stiffness in his bones now that he was back to sleeping on the bed. He also never had to worry about being cold, not to mention how cute Goth looked curled up against him.

_I'm really becoming a sap for Goth's whims._

A gasp brought him out of introspection, prompting him to look up.

"Palette, there's little silver things... fish?" the monster inquired excitedly. Palette hummed jovially in confirmation. He went back to starting his drawing as Goth turned around to watch the fish swim about below him.

The artist took note of the way the sun shone on the lake, the wind creating soft waves that lapped against the banks. The way Goth's scarf and coat fluttered in the breeze when he dipped his feet into the water. The curious wonder in his smile...

Palette blushed as he realized he'd been including Goth in the sketch. 

It didn't look bad, though. Far from it, in fact. His white and red silhouette would contrast wonderfully with the blues and greens around him once it was transferred to color on a canvas.

Setting aside the sketchbook and popping his joints, Palette stood up to join Goth by the water. It was only after leaving the shade that he noticed just how hot it was, even with his sleeves rolled up. 

_Goth's wearing a winter coat... isn't he hot?_

Stripping off his suspenders, white button-down shirt, gloves, socks, and shoes, Palette waded three feet into the water in his khakis and a tank top before turning to Goth, "Care to go for a swim?"

The skeleton gave him a confused look, tilting his head to the side, "Swim?" Palette wanted to smack himself. 

_Of course Goth wouldn't know what swimming is, he didn't even know about baths until a week ago!_ _Now that was an interesting experience..._

Moving closer, Palette held out a hand, "C'mon, I can show you... you might want to take off the coat and scarf first, though."

The small monster hesitantly removed the garments, leaving him in a tank top and khakis similar to the other skeleton and grabbed the offered hand.

Upon being pulled in, Goth floundered, latching onto the artist's top as he began to sink, "P... Palette?! I'm falling, help!"

"Easy there, you're not falling. I won't let you sink," Palette chuckled, holding the smaller up by his upper arms. His smile took on a sad curve as the other clung tightly to him, clearly still nervous. "I won't let you go, Goth. Trust me," he stated.

The nervous skeleton tilted his skull up, searching Palette's expression for a moment before giving a resolute nod.

His smile returning full force, the artist took hold of Goth's hands and walking himself backward. When the small skeleton balked, he instructed, "Kick your legs up and down, I've got your hands, so don't worry about sinking." 

Goth followed along, with Palette gently correcting him whenever he misinterpreted the instructions. 

It was a slow process, but he was eager to learn.

Once Goth began to get the hang of it, he asked, "Are you going to swim too?". The artist tilted his head in thought, then brought them back to the bank so he could look for something.

After perusing the various trees, Palette pried his fingers into one of them, digging into the wood until part of the bark came loose. 

He returned to the edge with a triumphant grin, handing the large strip of bark to Goth, "Here. You can use this to float on. Now I can swim with you!"

Placing it down on the water, Goth held onto it and started kicking as he did before. The bark worked perfectly, sinking down but floating just enough to keep the small skeleton above water like a body board. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the pair swimming laps around the lake and occasionally splashing each other. It wasn't until the sun began to set that the two returned to the bank and set off for their home once more.

Life had become so much more fulfilling since Goth arrived. Palette wished this could last forever.

 

 


	11. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days are more difficult than others...

Palette woke to a pounding sensation in his skull. Cracking open an eye socket, he cringed at the way the sunlight filtering in through the window seemed to burn at his eye lights.

Closing his socket once more, he took stock of himself. 

_My head hurts, I'm unbearably hot and sore, I can feel my bones rattling, and even after sleeping the whole night I still feel tired... no matter how I look at it, I'm sick._

The only thing preventing him from groaning in displeasure of the self-diagnosis was the bundle of bones curled up next to him. Goth looked so peaceful, he couldn't bear to disturb him.

Normally, Palette would just stay in bed until he felt better... but he knew he wouldn't be able to spend all day sleeping. 

_Goth needs me to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner as well as help him with learning his alphabet... not to mention all the chores that need to be done around the cabin and in the garden. There's no way I could make Goth do all that on his own, especially the cooking... there are too many hazards..._

With his mind made up, Palette carefully extricated himself from his companion and shifted to throw his feet over the edge of the bed, pausing to let the room catch up with him. 

Once his vision evened out, he pushed himself off the bed slowly and shuffled over to the bathroom to retrieve some medicine. While he hated the taste, it would be necessary to function today. 

He took a swig of the liquid, trying not to gag as the burning sensation went down his throat. Cringing at the aftertaste, the skeleton put the bottle away and made his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and wash his hands while Goth continued to sleep.

_Today's breakfast will have to be simple._  

Digging out a pair of pans and setting them on the stove, Palette pulled out the ingredients for scrambled eggs and toast. As he cooked, the pleasant smell of food wafted through the small home, waking the other resident.

Palette had been zoning out at the stove when a slight weight leaned into his left side. He turned to find Goth, staring at the contents of the pans in excitement, "Eggs and... baked bread?"

The taller skeleton smiled and laughed lightly at the smaller's wording, gently correcting him, "Scrambled eggs and toast, yes." He continued stirring the eggs and flipping the bread in each pan as Goth watched, an amicable silence falling between them as Palette began to zone out again.

Palette hadn't been expecting the arms around his waist... or the worried eye lights staring up at him. Goth's voice quivered, "Is something wrong? Did something scare you? Is there danger?"

The questions confused Palette. Turning off the stove to plate the finished meal, he asked, "Why do you think I'm afraid or that there's danger here?" 

The scarved skeleton's grip tightened by a small margin, "You're shaking... shaking means scared, and scared means danger."

_Ah, so that's what Goth meant. His observational skills really are something sometimes._

Removing Goth's arms so he could move the food to the table, Palette explained as he sat down, "I'm not scared, Goth, I'm just..." He paused, trying to figure out how he wanted to word it. 

In the end, he felt he needed to be honest so he didn't confuse the small monster further, "I'm not feeling too good right now, but I'll be okay as long as I take it easy today."

Goth tilted his head as he followed, "Don't feel good... you're sad?" Before Palette was able to correct him, arms wrapped around his neck and the smaller nuzzled into the back of his skull. 

_Heh, if only hugs cured illnesses..._

Palette turned slightly with a sleepy smile, "I'm not sad... it's called feeling sick." 

More confusion from the smaller, "Sick?"

"Yeah, it can leave you feeling really hot or cold, sometimes sore... usually tired," he elaborated digging into his breakfast. Goth took his own seat, joining the taller in the meal.

_It makes sense. Goth can't die, so he probably can't get sick either._

A minute later, the smaller's fork stilled as his eye lights contracted a bit, anxiously inspecting the artist, "You're... tired? It hurts?" 

Palette grimaced as a thought dawned on him. 

_Goth's only experiences with sore and tired are people hurting him, so he would naturally make that leap in logic._

Palette knew it would probably worry his companion, but he wanted to be honest, "While my skull  _does_  hurt a little, I took some medicine for it. I should be okay as long as I don't push myself too hard."

The smaller still wasn't convinced. 

"I'm okay Goth," he repeated, giving his best smile, " something like this usually only lasts a day or two.  We'll have a nice, quiet day... we'll even go to bed early tonight if that makes you feel better. First, though, we need to finish breakfast... good food can help you get the energy you need to feel better faster."

Nodding his head, Goth returned to his food as Palette did the same.  It wasn't up to par with his usual standards, but Goth seemed contented with the results nonetheless.


	12. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought he could handle it...

Throughout the day, Goth kept an eagle eye on Palette as he went about his chores at a sluggish pace. Goth was much more hands-on in helping out, which the taller was silently thankful for.

Eventually, Palette was forced to take another dose of medicine when his skull began throbbing again, resulting in a terribly upset Goth when he couldn't hold back his look of disgust.

Once he sufficiently convinced the smaller the medicine wasn't hurting him, that it just tasted gross, the pair pulled out writing materials to work on Goth's alphabet at the table.

As the lesson wore on, Palette found his focus slowly waning. 

_I can handle this... I just...  I need to... to......_

"...ette? Palette?" 

He looked up to see Goth once again hugging him, worry etched on his face. Palette's hand rubbed his burning skull. 

_How did I not even notice Goth move?_

"Maybe I should lay down after all," Palette sighed, extricating himself from Goth's arms to stand up. He gasped as his legs wobbled and fell out from under him. Luckily, the smaller skeleton was close enough to grab him, grunting with the effort of keeping him up.

Everything spun around him in an incomprehensible blur. Taking a deep breath, the artist used Goth's support and the nearby table to pull himself upright and stagger over to the bed. 

He flopped down onto the pillow, panting as his body burned and shook from the effort. His hat had been knocked off in the process, but he was too exhausted to care.

"Sorry Goth... I just need to rest for a bit...," he apologized softly to the hovering monster, grimacing as his vision began to tunnel. 

Goth shook his skull, tears leaking from the edges of his sockets at Palette's compromised state. "Can I help?" he asked.

Palette wracked his cloudy mind, trying to think of a way the smaller would be able to help without risking injury. 

_Maybe..._

"A wet cloth...? That... that might help with the fever...," he breathed. 

Goth shot over to the kitchen, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the faucet. Within a minute, he returned, holding out the dripping wet fabric for Palette. 

He gratefully took the rag with an unsteady hand, placing it on his forehead and sighing at the cool sensation, "Thanks... that feels much better," he murmured, shutting his eyes.

A warm body attached itself to his right arm. Opening his sockets slightly, Goth was laying next to him, clutching the appendage to his chest with his face buried in his shoulder, trembling. 

Palette raised his left hand, gently placing it on one of Goth's own hands and murmuring, "I'll be okay... I promise. Like I said, I just... need to rest..."

Goth whined in response... whether it was a confirmation or not, Palette couldn't say as the combined warmth of his fever and Goth's body heat pulled him down into unconsciousness.

\---

Palette stirred to the feeling of wetness surrounding his skull and the sound of shuffling in the distance. Turning over, he found he wasn't completely surprised by a squelch of wet fabric. 

Opening his sockets, a pile of washcloths of varying colors laid on the bed next to him, a clear stain soaking into the already soggy pillow and the slightly damp sheets.

_This...? Goth must have taken every washcloth I own and soaked them in water before adding them to my forehead._

He did have to admit he felt better... and while he still felt a bit shaky and warm, it was definitely at a more manageable level than before. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Palette's gaze caught on a single black feather on the floor by his bed. He reached over to pick it up, turning it over in his fingers.

_Can Goth's healing ability work on illness as well as injuries?  It certainly seems like he tried._  

Whether it had actually worked or not was anyone's guess.

Storing away the information, the artist turned toward the noises in the kitchen. It was the only source of light in the house where a shadow was flitting back and forth across the doorway.

"Goth?" Palette called out from the darkness. The shuffling stopped and a moment later, the small skeleton's head popped around the doorway. A wide grin lit up his face as he raced across the room, practically throwing himself into Palette's lap.

"Are you okay, how are you feeling, does it still hurt, do you need more yucky stuff, I used more washcloths since it looked like one was helping, more is better, right? I also made food, I tried healing you and that didn't seem to fix it and you said good food helps you feel better faster, so-"

Palette starry eye lights dilated at the rapid-fire questions and rambling. "Woah, breathe Goth! To answer your questions...," he said, taking a second to collect himself, "yes, better, not as much, stars I hope not, and I think the washcloths did more soaking than cooling, but I appreciate the thought behind the action."

He looked to the damp clump by his pillow. 

_I'll probably need a new pillow and sheets until those dry..._

"Wait... you made food?" he stuttered, blanching at the implications as his heart raced in growing dread. His volume rose with his panic, "As in, you used utensils in the kitchen? Oh, stars... did you use the stove? Are you okay?!" 

He frantically scanned Goth's body, trying to remember which marks were already present and whether there were any new ones. 

_There are a few smudges on his tank top, but nothing serious looking...?_

"I... I'm s... sorry," the smaller stammered, shrinking out of Palette's grasp as tears welled up in his sockets, "I d... didn't use the s... stove... but I used a... a knife. I might have c... cut my finger once or t... twice... but it already healed! I'm sorry, p... please don't be m... mad... please... I'm sorry..."

Goth curled up in a ball with his face tucked into his knees, hugged himself and shivering as he cried at the end of the bed. 

Palette's soul squeezed at the sight. Pushing off the blanket covering his legs, he crawled over to the other skeleton. 

"Oh, Goth, no... I'm not mad at you," he said in a soothing tone. He grimaced as a hand on Goth's shoulder was met with a flinch, but he allowed Palette close enough to bring him into a hug, "I was only scared you might have hurt yourself. Even if you can heal yourself, cuts and burns still hurt when they happen, and that worried me.

"Even so, that doesn't make it right. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that. I'm sorry I upset you, can you forgive me?"

Goth nodded into Palette's wrinkled shirt, managing to wipe away his tears in the process and forming a shaky smile as he looked up. Placing a hand on top of the smaller's skull, the artist asked, "So, you said you made food...?"

The question successfully distracted Goth, prompting him to scramble from Palette's arms and race back into the kitchen. The taller couldn't suppress his laughter at the reaction, but was stunned into silence at the plate held triumphantly in the smaller's hands.

On the plate sat a small stack of crudely cut peanut butter and jelly sandwich triangles.

Taking one of the pieces, the artist took a bite as Goth watched on in anticipation. The edges were rough and the peanut butter and jelly weren't spread evenly, but he was able to tell a lot of feeling went into their preparation.

Swallowing the bite, Palette grinned, "It's delicious, Goth. Thank you." The small skeleton's face shined like the sun. He was so happy, which only made the other grin wider.

Though both skeletons paused at the growling sound coming from Goth's stomach.

Palette laughed as Goth blinked in confusion, "Why don't you have some of the sandwiches with me? You haven't eaten since breakfast, have you?" The skeleton shook his head, taking one of the pieces and biting into it.

The joyful expression as he savored his first culinary creation was all Palette could ask for.


	13. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end...

Palette sat against a tree, sketchbook in hand and a glorious sunset before him. Yet, he found he couldn't concentrate. A sense of foreboding had begun to eat away at him the past week.

It had been a month now since Goth had stumbled into his life, and the artist was enjoying every minute of it. The two had become so much closer, a far cry from the first night when the small monster sat in the corner of the room all night, refusing to sleep because he couldn't trust anyone or anything. 

Now they were sleeping in the same bed together, taking comfort in each other's presence.

Even Goth's reintroduction to life outside had been going well. He was successfully able to recreate the alphabet and name each letter without any assistance, not to mention his vocabulary had improved considerably. 

The small skeleton had gone from monosyllabic, choppy responses and subtle gestures to having lengthy verbal discussions throughout the day with Palette, all in the span of a month!

_So why does it feel like it won't last?_  

A big part of that worry was due to the 'bad people' Goth had spoken of during their first week together. Palette hadn't seen a trace of them since the trio paid that late night visit, but he had a feeling they weren't going to stay gone forever.

As the days went by, the skeleton kept a vigilant watch for anything dangerous to him or his companion, his paranoia growing with each passing day. 

He tried his best not to let it show. He didn't want to get Goth worked up, after all.

Goth was currently sitting in a patch of nearby flowers, stringing them into a chain as the artist had shown him earlier in the week. Palette smiled softly as the smaller's tongue poked out, the intensity of his concentration soul-warming. 

He was currently wearing Palette's brown hat, having to constantly push it back up whenever it fell into his face due to its size, but he didn't seem to mind.

Palette looked back to the paper, letting out a sigh and turning to a clean page. 

_I'm just not feeling the sunset today._  

Repositioning himself, he faced towards Goth and began drawing him instead.

_Goth really is an angel, even if I'm not allowed to say it. He went from spending his existence being tortured for the sake of scientific discovery to enjoying a peaceful life in the woods._

The evening Goth had revealed the extent of his hardships... it wasn't one either skeleton would forget anytime soon. The way he smiled now, though... Palette wasn't sure he'd be able to bounce back the same way if he were in their bones.

The artist sketched out the basic outline, starting with the Goth's head and worked his way down. Once the basic figure was done, he began to fill in the details, taking in every fold and dip in his clothing, the subtle nuances in his expression...

_Stars, I'm falling head over heels for Goth._

As much as he tried to deny it, Goth had become an integral part of Palette's life. He could no longer picture his days without the small skeleton. 

The sad part was that even if his companion understood and reciprocated those feelings, there was one major problem the pair wouldn't be able to overcome: He was immortal and Palette wasn't. If Goth really couldn't die, then he would undoubtedly continue living long after the artist passed away. 

_Attaching myself to Goth like that, only to leave him alone again in the future... it would merely turn his life into another eternal hell._

Palette couldn't do that to him,  _wouldn't_  do that to him... which meant his thoughts would remain just that: thoughts. 

They would continue to live their quiet life together as he taught Goth about the world around them. Once Palette passed on, he hoped the small skeleton would have the confidence and knowledge to make his way in the world without him.

Palette closed his sketchbook with a sigh, not feeling up to drawing anymore. His grim thoughts had put him in a dour mood. 

He heard a faint shuffling noise in the distance as he opened his bag... 

_Probably a squirrel or something foraging for food._  

Packing up his art supplies, Palette paused as a high-pitch whine filled the air. Goth stood up in alarm, his eye lights darting around frantically. 

As Palette opened his mouth to call out, the smaller threw himself to the ground without warning, kicking up flower petals... and an earsplitting bang resounded throughout the forest. 

Goth's scarf, which had flown into the air from his momentum, now had a hole pierced through the end... right where his chest had been moments before.

_Someone shot at Goth! Were they aiming to kill?_

The small skeleton scrambled toward Palette's position, keeping low to the ground as he went. Palette opened his arms wide and the monster threw himself into the embrace with a shuddering exhale. 

Twigs snapping could be heard in the distance. Three armored men appeared from behind a tree roughly fifteen feet away. The artist's grip on his companion tightened as he glared at the trio to cover his fear.

_The bad people found us._


	14. Retaliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was inevitable...
> 
> Chapter Warning: Physical violence

"Well lookie what we found... our runaway lab rat!" the soldier holding a gun crowed, nudging the one on his right. 

Palette growled at the insult as Goth pressed further into him.

"Dude, you totally missed," another on his left, wearing a sash covered in little silver balls, pointed out. 

The gunman groused, "We're dealing with a dangerous experiment here! It wouldn't be worth searching for a month if I could just pop its head off like a little girl's dolly."

It made the skeletons bristle how they were so casually talking about murder.

"Palette...," Goth murmured, nudging him toward the safety of a tree trunk, "We have to run..."

_We can use the trees to-_

"That wouldn't be such a good idea, kid," the third man called out in a lazy drawl, holding a rectangular object containing an assortment of buttons up for everyone to see, "I've already notified the lab that you've been found as well as sending our current location coordinates. Reinforcements should be arriving soon, so running is pointless." 

The second man cackled, "Nice, way to stay on top of things!"

"So," the first one said, waving his gun slightly, "What's your decision?"

The air around Goth began to crackle as his magic coalesced around his hands. Pulling out of the taller's grasp, his eye lights were quivering as he whispered, "Palette, hide. Now."

The artist snapped his attention to the smaller skeleton, whispering back frantically,  "You can't be serious! You can't fight them, we have to run!"

Goth shook his skull, never taking his eye lights off the trio and keeping his voice low as he said, "We'll be attacked as soon as we turn our backs. A fight's happening, one way or another. Also, they said more are coming soon. Beating these three before the others come is our best chance." 

"We haven't got all day, brats, make a choice or  _we'll_  start this party!" the gunman shouted.

Palette grit his teeth as he replied quietly to the smaller, "Even if that's true, these guys are trained to kill! You'll get hurt fighting by yourself!"

"And if I don't fight, they'll hurt  _you_ _,_ " Goth countered, clenching his fists in resignation, "Please... trust me." 

Goth stepped forward, bone constructs materializing around him. The artist reached his hand out to stop them, only to hesitate. He growled at the three men but reluctantly began to edge towards the tree for cover as his companion had asked.

_Good... thank you, Palette._

"So, you choose to fight... nice, I was looking for some action!" the man with the sash grinned, picking one of the balls off of it. The other two readied their weapons as well, a handgun and a knife respectively. 

The man with the knife kicked a brown object forward... 

_Palette's hat!_

Goth instinctually dove for the hat, throwing up a shield of bones for good measure. The man with the silver ball tossed it. 

The pair of skeletons tensed as the object rebounded off the bone shield, letting out a hiss as smoke rapidly shrouded the area.

Palette choked out somewhere behind Goth, "Gas?! Goth, b... be careful!" 

"Pa... Palette!" the scarved skeleton coughed, trying in vain to use his sleeve to block the smoke while donning the hat. 

_I can barely see a thing! I won't be able to keep an eye on Palette like this, but they can't-_

He gasped as a dark object came hurtling toward him: the soldier with the knife, a red light flashing on the left corner of his visor. 

The small skeleton barely avoided their first strike, launching a wave of bone constructs in retaliation. A hiss was heard close by.

_I hit someone, at least._

Goth didn't have the chance to celebrate as the attacker closed the distance once more, their slashes forcing the monster into a flurry of dodges and narrow misses. 

_They shouldn't be able to see through the smoke, how is he able to fight so well?!_

Goth jolted as a tree impeded his path backward, grunting as a hand slammed into his neck, pinning him in place. The man smirked, bringing his knife down.

_No! I can't go back! I can't-!_

With a flash of light, magic surged into Goth's palms and he pushed the energy forward without thinking, blowing away the smoke and his aggressor in the resulting gust. 

The man dodged backward, thinking it was another attack. 

He was partially right... a long, thin stick with a curved blade on the end now rested just before the skeleton's hands. It was giant compared to Goth, but as he grasped it, the weapon felt light as a feather.

"Goth?!" Palette yelled frantically, the area around him still shrouded in smoke.

"I'm fine!" the smaller blurted out, trying to get a feel for the object in his hands.

"The Professor never reported anything on the subject possessing a scythe," the knifeman called out, irritation in his tone. 

"Expect the unexpected, comes with the territory, dude!" the sashed man yelled, clearly enjoying himself. 

_So this thing's a scythe?_

Gripping the weapon, Goth charged forward. The air sang around the scythe's blade as it slashed at its target. 

_This is... this is great! With this, I can block and fight back without being within range of the knife._  

The soldier seemed to sense this too, now being the retreating party as he dodged Goth's swings.

_It feels so natural; like it's a part of my arm. I can win this-_

"That's enough of that, brat."

Goth shot a glance toward the voice and felt his soul shudder in his chest. The gunman had their arm wrapped around Palette's neck, holding him off the ground with a gun placed against his skull. 

_I was so busy fighting, I forgot to watch out for Palette..._

The artist struggled, pulling on the arm wrapped around his neck as he tried to get his feet back under him. "G... Go-urk!" he choked as the man's grip tightened.

" **L e t h i m g o** ," Goth rumbled,  an unfamiliar, cold rage dripping from every word as magic rolling off his body in waves.

"Or what?" the man quipped, nudging the gun into his captive's skull, "He can't heal like you can and we don't need him alive. Do you really want to risk me pulling the trigger before you can reach us?"


	15. Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dream is over...
> 
> Chapter Warning: Physical abuse

Goth's rage dissipated at the man's words. Tears threatened to leak from his sockets as he let his weapon dissolve into nothing, clutching his fists to his chest.

"We win," the man declared as his partners walking up behind Goth, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him to the ground. The smaller laid motionless under his captors, biting back a sob.

_Goth... he's giving himself up. I can't let this happen! I said I wouldn't let the bad people take him back... I have to protect Goth!_

Palette pulled on the man's arm, ramming his skull upward and into their chin. The action loosened their grip just enough for the artist to slip out and make a beeline for Goth. 

_I just have to get to Goth, then we can-_

A thunderous boom shook the world into silence.

Goth screamed as Palette fell, a gaping bullet hole in his back. Crimson marrow bled into his shirt as he fought to move. The artist gasped when even the slightest movements sent pain surging through him.

The pain quickly began to dip into a numbing cold, creeping outward from the wound to consume him.

_This drifting, hollow feeling... is this what dying feels like? The initial pain was horrible, but this... it's scary... like I'm steadily losing himself, plunging into a bottomless void with no hope of escape._

_I... I can't die... not yet... Goth still needs me..._

Looking up toward his companion, Goth was attempting to wrench himself from the men's grips, tears cascading down his face. With a deafening scream, his magic surged, pushing both men back. 

Black wings quickly materialized as he rushed toward Palette with single-minded determination. Dropping next to the prone skeleton, his wings flared and his magic blazed as he poured magic into the wound, his soul shined brilliantly within his chest.

Palette looking up at him, feeling his breath hitch when he took in the smaller's appearance. "G... Goth... your...," he coughed weakly.

_His right eye light's missing!_

"Don't speak!" The small skeleton commanded sharply, his voice heavy with anguish. Palette felt a rush of giddiness as the magic began to take hold and heal the damage. Tears of relief dripped down Goth's cheeks.

"That is enough, my dear Angel. Come here."

Goth shuddered, his magic shorting out as his wings vanished like they never existed, his sockets voiding out. Palette shifted from under Goth's quaking hands to get a look at the newcomer... then wished he hadn't.

A balding middle-aged man in a long white coat was flanked by a group of soldiers in full armor, holding weapons trained on the pair. There had to be at least forty or fifty of them.

"Subject G01H, do not make me repeat myself," he barked.

With shaky hands, Goth reached for the hat still perched on his head. Pulling it down, he stared at it for a few seconds, new tears forming in his sockets, before placing the garment next to his companion. 

Palette could almost read Goth's mind.

_He knows we can't win against these odds. Trying would only guarantee death._

"B... bye Pa... Palette...I'll m... miss you...," Goth hiccuped, standing to comply with the old man's request.

"Ngh... no...," the artist tried to follow him, grasping his hat in the process, but his body refused to listen. By the time he'd even managed to get on his knees, Goth was already in front of the scientist. 

The man roughly grabbed his chin, drawing out a whimper as they tilted it to inspect him, "Hmm... an eye is missing. That will need to be investigated once we return to the lab." 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a black metal ring. Goth shuddered as the scientist popped the ring into two crescent halves and snapped, "Remove that filthy garment, it is in the way."

"Y... yes Pr... Professor," Goth stuttered, slowly unwinding his scarf with trembling hands. He clenched the fabric to his chest once it was free.

"Goth... run, please!" Palette called out, straining to stand, to crawl... anything!

"Your neck," the scientist prompted. Goth closed his teary sockets, leaning forward and tilting his skull up to present his bare neck obediently. 

The small skeleton flinched when the metal snapped closed around his neck. For a moment, Palette thought that would be the end of it... but he was proven wrong as a surge of electricity ripped through Goth, sending him to the ground with a pained shriek. 

"Stop it!" the artist screamed.

"Sufficient punishment for running away, I believe," the scientist mused as the electricity died away, leaving its victim in a twitching heap, gasping for air. The man turned toward two of the soldiers, "Pick them both up, we are returning."

"W... wait! No...," Goth protested, trying to pull himself up despite the numbness in his body, "... you can't-!"

A swift kick to the ribcage silenced the skeleton's words, replacing them with heaving coughs and wheezing. 

Goth curled into a ball as if to shield himself from another blow. 

"Leave him alone!" Palette cried out in indignation. The man ignored him as a soldier dragged the artist to his feet and jabbed a gun into his sore back.

"You will not tell me what to do, Subject G01H. I am the one in control here," the man growled, " It seems we will have to correct that deviant behavior you developed in your absence."

He turned once more to the soldiers, "We are leaving. Do not worry about injuring the subject if it struggles. It is quite durable."

Nothing more was said as Goth was picked up and thrown over a soldier's shoulder, all the fight drained out of him and replaced with grim resignation as Palette was urged to follow at gunpoint. 

 

 

 


	16. Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A skeleton plans their escape and learns a hard truth...

How had Palette never realized it? The lab had always been so close.

The group trekked up the mountain, filing into a cave entrance hidden by the brush surrounding it. A hidden panel on the wall designed to look like an ordinary rock was pressed to reveal a metal door with a pad of numbers to the side. 

That door led to the inner belly of the mountain: the lab.

For three years, Palette had been so close to Goth without even knowing it.

The head scientist broke off from the rest of the group, with only the two soldiers escorting each skeleton and an extra pair of men accompanying him into an elevator. Palette couldn't deny he was nervous, not just because he'd never been on such a contraption before. 

_What are these people going to do to me? What are they going to do to Goth?_

The skeleton in question had remained quiet the whole walk, his eye sockets empty, draped over the soldier's shoulder like a lifeless rag doll.

As Palette's mind spun dark scenarios, the elevator arrived at its destination and the men filed out into a dim hallway lined with multiple cells. Some were empty, some contained shadowed figures... everything was eerily silent. 

Stopping at an empty one, the old man pressed his finger to a smooth panel. The latch made a popping noise and he instructed the soldier directing Palette, "Put the spare in here. We will find a way to make use of them eventually."

Palette was pushed haphazardly into the cell, grunting at the impact as his knees buckled. 

The door slammed shut as the old man turned to Goth's captor, "Do not bother with a cell for it. Take G01H straight to the lab for test prep. We will need to analyze its current state and figure out if there have been any major changes from our previous tests."

Goth whimpered softly but didn't struggle as he was carried down the hall, blank eye sockets wrinkling slightly in dismay. Palette reached for the bars, pulling himself into a kneeling position as he watched the group leave.

_I have to escape... I can't let them hurt Goth!_

Using the bars once more, he pulled himself into a standing position until he could reach the pad on the opposite side of his door. The skeleton growled when pressing his finger against it like the scientist had accomplished nothing. 

_I should have known that would be too easy... Goth wouldn't have been trapped here for so long otherwise._

Palette weighed his options.

_I'm still feeling tired from earlier... plus there are way too many guards. Trying to muscle my way through will only end in me getting caught or killed. I won't be able to help Goth if that happens, so I have to try to sneak out without attracting attention._

The artist let his gaze wander around his cell, looking for anything he could use to escape. All he saw was a grimy mirror above a small sink, a toilet with a waist-high wall for some semblance of privacy, and a lumpy mattress crammed into the far right corner. 

_There's not a lot to work with..._

Just as he began to resign himself to brute force being his only option, his eye lights caught sight of a vent.

Stumbling over to it, Palette tried to dig his fingers into the metal siding. It was attached firmly to the wall with four screws with a hexagonal indent in each hole. It didn't budge.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, his hands fell to his sides... only to brush against an object in his pocket. Pulling it out revealed one of his pencils... with six sides. 

_They took my bag but didn't bother to check my pockets!_

With renewed hope, Palette dug the pencil into the hole, fighting to stifle a cheer when it fit perfectly.

For five grueling minutes, the skeleton worked feverishly to loosen the vent grate. Finally, the last screw popped off and the cover came free. 

Pulling himself up, he was grateful that he managed to fit with a small amount of breathing room to spare. There wasn't room to turn around and retrieve the grate, so he would have to move quickly in case someone came by to check on him.

Taking care to move at a quiet but steady pace, the artist made his way through the vents, peaking through each cover in hopes of finding the room Goth had been taken to.

_They said he was being taken to a lab, so he probably won't be around here with the other cells..._

As he continued on, muffled voices could be heard. Palette would have passed them by if not for the word 'G01H'. 

_That's Goth's old name!_

Doubling back, Palette peeked through a grate. He saw the balding old man and another scientist, a woman, speaking at a desk.

"... It is certainly a troubling find. We will have to be more careful in the future if the absent eye light is indeed a sign of its lower physical tolerance. Luckily,  G01H still seems to have its healing capabilities. However, its slower rate of recovery, even taking the suppression collar's influence into account, is bothersome," the professor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Not to mention its newfound sense of defiance."

"But how are we supposed to test the angel's capabilities if its lower endurance levels won't allow for corrective measures?" the woman asked.

The balding man grumbled, "We will need to administer more tightly controlled shocks in such scenarios. No more emotion-fueled discipline. Quick, rapid-fire shocks only. Past tests have proven negative intent can leave lasting marks, so its body is not completely immune to permanent damage. Our preliminary results are also showing potential for mental breakdown with enough accumulation. It would essentially become a living doll: still present, but unable to react to external stimuli. 

"The main problem is the loss of its magic and abilities in the process, seeing as a monster's emotions and magic are so closely connected to each other. I believe monsters refer to the phenomenon as 'Shattering' of the soul. If such a thing were to occur, it would become nothing more than a useless husk. Even so, we cannot let it continue to defy us..."

Palette clenched his fists as he forced himself to continue down the vent. 

_The way they're talking about Goth as if he's an object rather than a living being... it makes me want to be sick! Shocks... mental breakdown... shattering souls... these are bad people, without a doubt._

Normally, a soul shattering was the last step in falling down, similar to a coma in human terms, before a monster dusted. For someone like Goth who couldn't die, however... 

_I knew it... he's not safe here. We have to leave._

With renewed determination, the skeleton continued down the vent tunnel until he heard a scream. 

_That's Goth!_

Quickening his pace, he made it to a grate. He immediately spotted Goth panting and crying at the far end of the room, secured to a chair, covered in colorful wires, surrounded by people in long white coats.

Then one of the machines revved to life... and Palette felt hatred for the first time in his life.


	17. Found (Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you feel like you can't take anymore...
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Physical abuse, Torture

Goth trembled as his coat and scarf were ripped off and thrown onto a table alongside Palette's bag. He felt exposed without the comforting weight the clothes provided... a tank top and khakis could only do so much.

He whined softly but held his tongue as a scientist strapped him into a chair while another stuck little circular pads attached to wires to his skull and ribs. 

The cold touches made him want to squirm... but he knew full well what would happen if he resisted. With the collar around his neck, he was completely under their control, unable to fight back at all.

One button press was all it would take to put him in his place.

The scientists activated their machines, humming with whispered discussions of the numbers they were receiving. A man stepped forward, a flashlight in hand as he tilted Goth's head upward, "Subject G01H, activate your eye lights." 

Goth let out a shaky breath but complied.

"Hmm," the man's eyes narrowed, flashing the light directly into the skeleton's right socket. Goth flinched but forced himself not to close it, "Subject G01H seems to be missing its right eye light, but appears to still maintain vision in both eyes." 

Another scientist pipped up from behind a console, "Magic levels are reading at a lower elevation than previous tests indicated."

"Hand me a scalpel, we'll need to collect a bone sample," the man directed, holding his hand out as the sharp instrument was placed in it. 

The small skeleton bit back a cry as a deep incision was made into his left radius until a quarter-sized chunk of bone was removed.

Goth gasped for breath through gritted teeth. The nerves around the bone were lit on fire, mixing with an itching sensation as his magic attempted to repair the damage despite the collar's interference. 

"Healing seems to be progressing slower than normal, a possible connection to its missing eye light?" one scientist observed, receiving murmurs for and against the theory.

"We need to test this further," another scientist commented, stepping forward alongside the man, "Subject G01H, bring out your soul." 

Goth jolted at the command.

_I don't want to! **But I have to...**_

_It'll hurt! **But they'll hurt me anyway if I don't...**_

"Subject G01H, now."

Goth couldn't stop the stuttered, "N... no...," that slipped from his mouth. He clamped his mouth shut, body rigid... but the proverbial damage was done. 

A sour expression crossed the man's face as he turned away from Goth and nodded to his associates, "Do it."

Electricity coursed through his bones as he wailed in agony, writhing in his restraints in a vain attempt to escape the pain. Once the sensation petered out, Goth dipped forward as far as the restraints allowed, choking in his sobs.

"Hey, go easy! You're going to damage the machinery with that kind of voltage running through the wires!" a woman shouted.

"A necessary risk," the man countered, turning to Goth once more, "Now, your soul." 

Goth whined, shrinking into his chair as the man glared at him.

"Say, didn't the Professor bring back another monster with G01H?" one scientist in the back asked. Goth's sockets shot open, staring in horror as they continued, "Do you think he'd mind if we used it?"

"Please... don't hurt Palette... I'll be good...," The skeleton pleaded, reluctantly releasing the small construct from his chest, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The object glowed weakly, almost trembling as if knowing the fate that would befall it. 

"Better," the man smirked as a gloved hand reached for the soul.

Goth screamed as malevolent intent enveloped him, the pressure akin to thousands of knives piercing his bones. A fraction of his mind registered his soul being carried over and placed into a machine nearby. 

The pressure eased and Goth sagged against his restraints, pale purple tears dripping onto his lap and clouding his vision. He was only given a moment's respite to catch his breath before the machine turned on.

 As the machine whirred to life and performed its painful tests, pain ripped through him in waves. 

_No! I can't do this! Not again! I was free! I was happy! NOT AGAIN!_

Goth bawled, unable to stop the string of pleas that escaped his mouth in an effort to end his suffering, "STOPITHURTSPLEASEIDON'TWANTIT ITHURTSSOMEONEHELPMEPLEASEJUSTLETMEDIEALREADYITHURTSSAVEMEPALETTEICAN'T-"

A sharp sting tore across Goth's right cheek, the chair he was still attached to lurching to the left and clattering against the floor, jarring his body and skull. 

His breath hitched, catching in his throat. A tight pressure constricted his chest, making it impossible to inhale or exhale.

He could barely make out muffled sounds and yelling around him. Everything was overlayed with the roar of white noise as his mind and body struggled to process what had happened.

_I don't want to be here. I don't want this. It hurts. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? My chest hurts. Everything hurts. Pain. No more. Is this dying? It hurts! I don't want to die! But if this is all I have to live for..._

_I want to leave... I want to go home... I want Palette..._

_Palette... help..._

Something touched his skull, then his shoulder. There was more muffled yelling. 

_The touch... it's warm._  

Goth tried to cry out when the warmth disappeared but was placated moments later when the same feeling enveloped his entire body. 

He relaxed into the familiar sensation.

_Warm... safe..._

The coil within his ribs slowly unwound as feeling returned to his body and he was able to finally take a staggered breath, the rush of air causing his thoughts to momentarily fog over before they cleared once more.

"Goth? Speak to me!"

Goth cracked open a socket. He felt dizzy with relief when his hazy vision took in Palette, undoing the restraints on his chair amid a room of still bodies and broken machinery. 

"P... Pa...lette...," his throat felt sore and scratchy from overuse, but the smaller skeleton felt a watery smile pull at his face regardless.

"Goth!" the taller skeleton cried, looking up from his work. A mix of relief and sorrow warred on his face as he said, "Hang on, I'll have these off in just a minute."

Removing the last strap, the artist pulled his companion's limp body from the tipped over chair into his embrace. Goth weakly returned the gesture with one arm, laying his skull against Palette's chest. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks, stinging dully against the mark left behind earlier. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't stop them sooner, Goth!" Palette's voice shook, "I promise I won't let them touch you like that again... I'll never let you go ever again!"   

He couldn't see Palette's face, but it sounded like he was crying.

Strength filled the shivering skeleton, finding the will to reassure his companion, "I'll... be f... fine... I... I ca... can't-"

"It's  _not_  fine! They hurt you!" the taller skeleton shouted, his grip tightening a slight bit as he choked out between tears, "even if you can't die, you're still hurting... so don't brush it off like it's nothing. What happened wasn't okay. Please, don't pretend it was... please..."

Goth conceded, leaning his skull against the other's chest once more. His sockets drooped as he softly whispered, "Okay."

Palette lifted his hand to remove the collar from Goth's neck but their urgent whine stopped him, "N... no... sh... shock... haveto... t... turn off first."

"How do we do that?" the artist questioned.

Goth struggled to come up with an answer, grimacing as he said, "Don't know... p... power went out... la... last time... turned off... by itself."

With a frustrated huff, Palette abandoned the idea, carrying the small skeleton to the nearby table that held his coat and scarf as well as the artist's messenger bag instead. 

Setting Goth gently against the wall, he grabbed the clothes off the table and began to redress him. 

Placing his hat upon his companion's skull to finish the process, Palette adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder and scooped the smaller up once more, cradling him to their chest.

"...Palette...?" the smaller glanced forward as they approached an open doorway, unable to hide the fear in his voice. 

The taller skeleton smiled down at him, "Don't worry Goth, we're getting out of here."

Palette pushed the door open fully and stepped out into a silent corridor.


	18. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A skeleton processes the situation and plans an escape...
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Referenced torture, Attempted murder

Palette jogged down the hallways with Goth shivering in his arms. The artist had always been an advocate of creation and knowledge, that all life was sacred... but this place and the people within were irredeemable.

It made him want to break something just thinking about the atrocities he witnessed in the mere seconds he watched Goth being tortured. His agonized screams would likely haunt Palette's deepest nightmares. 

Goth crying for someone to kill him... begging for Palette to save him...

The artist had lost it when Goth was struck across the face by a blonde haired man attempting to silence him. 

Seeing red, Palette let his magic run rampant, tearing open the vent cover and letting his bones fly with the intent to take out as many of the beasts in the room as possible. A few near the door had managed to escape... but his priority was helping Goth. 

His poor Goth, struggling to take in air on the floor while still strapped to a chair, breaking down right in front of him. 

When the artist had retrieved his soul from the ruined machine, it had been breaking, cracking to pieces... shattering. Palette thanked the stars he was able to feed his own magic into the damaged soul, giving it the energy it needed to heal before it was destroyed completely.

Palette wanted this lab to burn, but that wouldn't help the skeleton in his arms right now. 

_Once Goth's safe..._

"...Palette? You're... shaking...," the small monster murmured, a tired frown marring his face. 

Palette tried his best to give an encouraging smile, "It's okay... it's a bit cold here, that's all." The artist wouldn't worry his companion with his anger or fatigue. 

_I can't get caught up in my emotions now. Getting Goth out of here comes first._

As the skeletons turned the corner, a pair of men in armor rounded the opposite corner. Letting out a curse, Palette doubled back as they opened fire, barely missing the pair. 

Goth clutched his hand against the other's shirt, sockets clenched in fear as the monster ran.

Turning down a hallway and racing through the corridor, Palette arrived in a large, open room lined with railed platforms spread out over a dark pit.

Bolting across the closest one, a crackle of electricity was the only warning Palette got as his nerves lit up like a Christmas display, sending him and his cargo crashing to the floor in blinding pain.

The pain stopped as Goth rolled away from him, but the smaller continued to writhe. 

_The collar!_

Struggling to stand against the numbness, the artist wanted to snarl as the armored men surrounded them. 

Goth's screams died down and one of the men grabbed his arm, bodily lifting the small skeleton from the ground. Two more repeated the action with Palette.

"Pa... le...," Goth groaned, weakly attempting to struggle in the soldier's tight grip.

"I think that is quite enough trouble from you both," the old scientist drawled, stepping forward. Palette glared at him, loathing radiating from his body. 

The man continued speaking, unimpressed, "I was hoping we would be able to find a use for you, however, it seems a backwoods cretin like you is more trouble than you are worth. A lesson needs to be learned for attempting to steal my Angel."

"He's not your  _anything_!" Palette roared, struggling in the two soldier's grips as the scientist looked on in contempt.

He snapped his fingers, and the soldiers holding Palette began to move toward the railing. The man sneered, "I would say it was a pleasure meeting you, but that would be an outright lie. Good riddance to bad rubbish." 

Before the skeleton could reply, he felt his feet leave to ground as he was thrown backward. A weightless sensation overwhelmed him for a moment... then gravity took over, pulling him down into the pit as Goth's screams echoed from above. 

Palette clenched his sockets, lamenting his failure as he awaited the impact from below.

_I wasn't strong enough... I couldn't protect you... again... I'm so sorry, Goth..._


	19. Freedom (At What Cost?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goth brings out his ace...

"Palette! N... no, Palette!" Goth screamed, struggling harder against the hold on his right arm. The soldier dug their fingers into the bone, but he refused to give up.

"Now now, no need to fuss, my dear Angel. You knew that bumpkin for... what, a month at most?" the professor chuckled, turning from the group, "Come along, that pest set us back quite a bit with his outburst earlier."

_No... I have to save Palette... he's falling... the only one that ever cared about me is going to die... all because of me..._

"No..."

The professor turned, mild annoyance and shock on his face, "Excuse me?"

"I. Said.  _NO!_ " 

Magic engulfed the skeleton, throwing off his captor and scattering the rest. The collar on his neck hissed and shorted out, unable to handle the magical load forced into it. 

Goth raced for the edge of the platform and dove over the railing.

Ebony wings burst forth as he spotted Palette's faint silhouette in the darkness below. He tucked the wings into his sides as he dove after the other skeleton, "Palette!"

"Goth?!" The artist looked up, surprised but at the same time relieved. He reached out his hands toward the winged monster.

Goth reached his arms out in return as he closed the distance. His holed hands stretched, managing to close around the other's wrist.

Pulling his hand up, Goth brought Palette to his chest as his wings splayed out to break their descent. He beat his wings furiously, forcing himself upward and out of the divebomb.

Safely out of immediate danger, Goth searched for an exit. 

There were no openings other than large metal doors at the bottom. were too sturdy to break through... everything else was on the platforms above.

_We have to go up..._

"Goth... what are you thinking?" Palette questioned warily as he took in Goth's expression.

Goth ignored him. The soldiers would be aiming for them once they got their bearings, so he would need to get past them before they recovered. 

He tightened his grip on Palette when he heard shouting from above.

_Too late._

"Put up the barrier, stop G01H from escaping again!" the Professor bellowed to the men around him. The monster's wings quivered as an iridescent dome formed above the pair. 

_We're trapped... unless..._

Palette gazed up in awe and trepidation, "G... Goth... that's..."

"I can handle it. Trust me," Goth replied, his face set in determination as he propelled himself higher. 

He could feel Palette's grip tighten, but heard a soft confirmation, "Okay."

_I have to time this just right..._

The small skeleton's soul thrummed as he approached the barrier, pressing on despite his body's desire to rest.

_Three... almost there._

_Two..._  "Hold on tight!" Goth shouted.

_One..._  Palette pressed into his companion, bracing himself.

Goth grit his teeth and crashed back-first into the barrier, gasping as the energy burned at his wings and spine. Sparks and feathers rained down as magic clashed with energy in a battle of wills.

"Goth!" Palette shouted, gripping the small monster desperately, unable to see anything in the bright flashes of light.

_Now!_

Goth let his magic flare and the world around them warped. In a blinding instant, the smaller monster had managed to take them outside. 

His singed wings flapped weakly, some of the feathers drooping and falling out as smoke drifted off them.

"How...," Palette blinked away tears, his starry eyes slowly adjusting to their new surroundings. 

Goth shook his head, gasping for breath as he said, "Not enough... have to... g... go farther... not... safe yet..."

Palette looked up in confusion, finally realizing something was wrong as Goth clenched his sockets and prepared his magic again, "Go-!"

The world warped once more and the scenery changed in another flash. 

The small skeleton grunted, urging his wings to move properly. They gave one last flutter before giving out completely, sending the pair spiraling toward the ground.

"Goth? Goth, what's wrong?!" Palette shouted in rising alarm. 

"P... pal... hurts... I ca... can't...," the smaller gasped, his voice straining as the forest below them drew closer.

Using the last of his strength, Goth turned himself, furling his damaged wings to cover Palette. 

He clutching the artist tight as they made contact with the tops of the trees, tearing through branches and crashing into the ground.

When everything stilled, Palette took in his surroundings... and Goth's unmoving form.

"Goth... Goth! Oh stars, wake up!" the skeleton cried. His companion ragdolled in his arms, the mutilated wings dissipating to reveal the smaller's scorched back and scraped bones, battered by the trees.

Checking Goth's soul revealed a weak glow, but thankfully no more cracks. 

A twig snapped in the distance, causing Palette's skull to shoot up. In the shadows of the trees stood a dark figure.


	20. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not just a river in Egypt...

The old skeleton's sockets shot open. 

He could sense two souls nearby, though one seemed to be in the throes of death. He hadn't collected a soul in years... but he supposed he could make an exception since it was so close by. 

He could give them the mercy of death that eluded him... if anything, it at least gave him something to do to break up the monotony of his existence.

Rolling out of bed and teleporting to the area he sensed the pair of souls at, he was met with the sight of... two skeletons? Skeletons weren't that common, so meeting two together was a rarity. 

One was a boy wearing light blue suspenders over a white shirt; the sleeves rolled up and a dried marrow stain spread across the back, white gloves, khaki pants, and light brown shoes. He was cradling the dying one in his arms. Their back was facing him, so he couldn't see the small one clearly, but they were wearing an oversized white winter coat with burn marks on the back, light brown pants, and a red... torn... scarf...

_No... after so many years, there's no way... impossible..._

The kneeling skeleton seemed to be looking at something. They looking up when the old skeleton's steps landed on a twig, their star-shaped eye lights falling on him. The stars narrowed as the boy put away whatever he'd been looking at.

"W... who's there?" they called out hesitantly. 

"Just a local hunter," the older monster casually replied, stepping forward, "Don't do much of that anymore, though. Came out here 'cause I sensed a dying soul, thought it'd like to be put out of its misery-"

The younger bristled, pulling the small body closer, "No! Don't you dare touch Goth!"

The ex-hunter was shocked and enraged at the exclamation. 

_Seriously?! Of all the-_

"If this is your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing," he bit out with a steely glare. The boy shrank under his words, but he couldn't find any signs of falsehood in their expression. 

_He's not joking? Dammit, what a miserable coincidence..._

The cloaked skeleton raised his hand to his skull, rubbing at his nasal ridge as he contemplated his next move. "I'm probably going to regret this... but come on," he groaned, turning to walk away.

"What?" the young monster questioned owlishly. 

He gave the boy a withering look, clicking his tongue, "You want to help the kid there, right? Then come on."

A moment of silence was followed by shuffling as the boy picked up his companion along with a light brown Stetson hat. He put it on the kid's skull before following after the older skeleton, his face set with resolve. 

The older monster heaved a sigh.

_I was kind of hoping they wouldn't follow..._ _I'm definitely going to regret this..._

\---

"I don't think I caught your name," the boy asked. 

"Never threw it," his aged guide quipped as they continued walking. 

"Oh...," he paused, unsure of how to proceed when faced with such a clipped response, "well, my name's Palette and this is Goth."

"Good for you," he drawled in return, rolling his eye light.

As the trio approached the cabin, he tromped up the creaky steps and through the broken doorway, throwing out a 'pardon the mess' as more of a reflex than anything. 

Palette balked momentarily at the rotten meat and bones adorning the entryway, but sidestepped the mess and continued inside nonetheless, looking around cautiously.

The older monster directed him to the ravaged bed in the corner. 

The boy gently placed his friend on the bed with the burns on his back facing up, reaching to remove a damaged piece of metal from their neck. Once it was snapped off and discarded, he set down his bag, perched himself on a corner of the bed, and removed the kid's hat, rubbing his hand gently along their skull. 

His expression settled on a worried yet soft smile. The sight would have been sweet if the older skeleton didn't feel so irritable. 

_I want answers._

"So, where did you two come from?" he asked. Palette's hand still, a frown forming on his face.

"We... we're running from some really bad people.  They... they hurt Goth, and I wasn't able to stop them. Goth got us out of there, but now he's unconscious because he was trying to protect me when we fell and I don't know how to help him. I don't have enough magic to give him without hurting myself, he'd be upset if I did that but he's not healing on his own and he probably used up his magic moving us, and he... and... I...," his explanation grew more and more frantic, eventually devolving into incomprehensible crying and hiccups. 

The monster sighed. It was hardly enough to disprove the nagging sensation in his soul. 

_'Not healing on his own'? Maybe..._

Sauntering up to the bed, he reached a hand over to the prone skeleton. Magic wafted from his fingertips as it fed into their soul. 

The heart-shaped vessel eagerly absorbed the magic with an aching familiarity. To his surprise, the kid's injuries began to fade amidst wisps of light purple magic.

He pulled away once their injuries had healed, disconcerted by the feeling. 

_So the kid wasn't actually dying, after all. He was just really low on magic..._

He was jarred from his thoughts when a groan announced the kid's awakening. "Goth?" Palette whispered excitedly.

Heavy eye sockets opened to reveal a single hazy white eye light, "Pa... lette...?" The kid smiled weakly as he focused on his companion.

Then his gaze fell on the old skeleton, and all hell broke loose.


	21. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions, confusion, and revalations abound...

The kid shot off the bed before anyone could blink, wildly launching a series of bone attacks toward the stranger in the process. 

The old skeleton leaned slightly, effortlessly dodging the haphazard attacks that embedded themselves in the wall behind him. Turning to the bones, he examined them with a dispassionate expression as they vanished.

_They're strong but crudely made. No polish to them._

Palette was over the bed in an instant, hugging the startled skeleton and muttering reassurances that the cloaked monster only caught bits of. Things like 'safe', 'friend', and 'helping'. 

All the while, the kid was shooting him a nasty glare full of defiance... the expression looked just like-

_No. I won't entertain the thought. I need to nip this in the bud._ _Now._

Moving around the bed, he came up behind the pair, "So, kid... who's your parents?" 

The kid's face flipped from anger to surprise at the question. He turned to Palette, asking quietly, "What's parents?" 

_The kid doesn't know what parents are?_

"Parents are people who love you and take care of you, providing you with everything you need," Palette replied in an equally soft voice.

The kid took on a thoughtful look, then said to Palette, "So you're my parents?"

The older skeleton placed his skull in his palm as the boy sputtered, blushing brightly and clearing his throat before saying "Um... no. Parents are two people, usually a mom and a dad, that made you. They make up a family."

"Oh," the small skeleton replied, thinking over the description, "Two people that made you... that love you and take care of you... a family..."

"I...," The kid's expression fell, tears beginning to line the edges of his sockets, "I don't think I have parents. Is... is that bad?" 

Palette pulled him closer, rubbing his back and stifling small sniffles with his shoulder, "It's not bad, and you have parents somewhere. You just haven't found them yet."

"Where were you living for the past twelve years?" the old skeleton continued relentlessly. 

_This'll be the undeniable proof that this kid isn't-_

"A lab," Palette answered for him, his expression darkening, "From what Goth told me, he's lived in a lab for as long as he can remember being experimented on by those... those  _beasts_." 

The last word was spat with venomous anger. The smaller in his arms hiccuped as he nodded in confirmation.

_It's all a coincidence... just..._

"Where'd you get the scarf?" the ex-hunter asked quietly.

_I refuse to believe it... I can't._

The kid took a shaky breath, words muffled by his companion's shirt, "I... I don't know... I've h... had it for... as lo... long as I... can remember... hurts to... to think t... too hard on it..."

_... it can't be..._

"Let me see your soul."

Both young skeletons jolted at the request. This time, it was Palette's turn to glare, shielding the small skeleton that was quaking in his grasp from the cloaked monster.

_Wrong thing to say, huh? Still..._

"I might actually know who you are," The old monster stepped forward as he pleaded, "I need to be sure... please, let me check."

Palette opened his mouth, only for the kid to squirm in his grasp. Slowly, he pulled out of their grip, their eye light locked on the old skeleton.

Wiping his face, he hesitantly rose and walked up to the adult. The kid scrutinized them for a solid minute, his uncertainty clear in his expression. Palette stood as well, joining the smaller skeleton. 

Suddenly, something changed in the kid's expression and he placed his hand on his chest, drawing out a tiny inverted heart and presenting it warily.

Palette held his breath as the older monster took the soul reverently, letting his magic surround the fragile object. 

For a minute nothing happened...  until tears began to slowly roll down the small skeleton's cheeks. Palette tensed, intent on retrieving the soul... but he stopped when he noticed confusion in his friend's expression rather than fear or pain.

The older skeleton was now openly crying, reaching toward his own chest to pull forth a larger soul. Placing it next to the smaller one, their beats seemed to synchronize as they responded to each other, calling out to one another with a familiarity the older skeleton feared he'd never feel again. 

_It **is**  him._

"Oh stars," the adult choked, returning the souls to their respective owners, "I... I never imagined..." He fell silent as his emotions quickly overwhelmed him.

"Who are you?" the kid... Goth whispered, his hand rubbing at his sternum. Palette was thoroughly perplexed, his gaze darting between both skeletons.

The cloaked monster kneeled down, placing his hands on Goth's shoulders as a wide grin spread across his face, "My name's Reaper... for twelve years, I thought I'd lost you. After so long... Goth... my son, you've finally come back to me."

"What?!" Palette blurted out.

Rather than elation, Goth's face maintained confusion, "Son? Like the glowing thing in the sky?"

Reaper let out an amused puff of air, rethinking his words, "Alright, let me put it this way kiddo: turns out you  _do_  have parents. I'm one of them, your dad. That make things easier to understand?"

The smaller's mouth open and shut repeatedly, seemingly at a loss for what to say. 

"I have parents...," Goth finally murmured, his gaze catching on the dresser behind Reaper... on the white jacket laying in the center, "A dad and a mo-"

The small skeleton hissed, his sockets clenching as his body pitched forward. Reaper caught him as Palette hovered over them. 

"What's wrong, what's happening to him!?" the young monster cried as Goth clutched his skull, gasping and releasing a high-pitched whine in the process.

"He's probably remembering," Reaper responded, cradling his son's skull under his chin as he swayed back and forth, rubbing soothingly up and down his spine, "When I lost Goth twelve years ago, the only thing left behind was this destroyed cabin and a pile of dust belonging to his mother. He probably repressed his memories of the event to protect himself..."

"...or those bastards brainwashed him into forgetting," he added, his eye light taking on a murderous gleam. 

Before he could act on his emotions, Palette interrupted, asking, "How can we help Goth?"

"Try to make him as comfortable a possible until this passes," the old skeleton replied. 

Standing up carefully, he shuffled over to the bed and laid his whimpering son onto his side. He pulled up one of the still intact chairs and sat down beside his son, continuing to rub their spine as Palette moved to the other side of the bed, sitting by his friend's head.

Eventually, Goth's breathing evened out and he fell into a fitful sleep. 

Reaper never took his eye lights off his sleeping son as he said, "For now, Goth needs to recover from that memory overload. Once he wakes up, we can take it from there."


	22. Past (Mistakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goth wakes up and Reaper reveals the past...
> 
> Chapter warning: Character death

Hours later, as the sun began to fall from the sky, Goth groggily awakened to Palette and his dad, Reaper, hovering nervously over him. 

His head ached, but it was a far cry from the stabbing pain he'd experienced earlier. 

Images of a strange skeleton had coursed through his mind. Wearing a scarf much like his own, a white jacket with a red mark, particles covering their right eye socket... a loving smile... a gentle touch...

_Was that my mom?_

"How you feeling, kiddo?" Reaper prodded softly

"I... I think I'm alright," Goth answered, sitting up slowly and taking in the room now that he wasn't in a panic. 

_It's honestly a disaster. There's dust and broken furniture everywhere... not to mention the horrible smell._

"Thank stars you're okay! Your dad said you were remembering things," Palette said, pulling the small skeleton into a hug. 

Goth returned the hug as he replied, "Yeah... I think I did..."

His eye light fell on the lone dresser he'd seen before he passed out, being the sole piece of unbroken furniture in the cabin. 

The small skeleton felt drawn to it, crawling off the bed to walk over, his hand running over the dusty folded cloth in curiosity.

"That was your mom's... the only thing remaining of him besides his dust in that urn," Reaper explained, shuffling toward the dresser to stand by Goth's side. 

Palette joined them as the older skeleton continued, "That scarf you're wearing was his too... you used to love stealing it from Geno to cuddle with it. I guess you had it this whole time." His dad chuckled, moisture accumulating around the rim of his sockets as he smiled at the memory.

_Mom..._

"What happened... back then, when I was smaller?" Goth asked, "I've got bits and pieces now, but none of it makes sense." The smile left Reaper's face, replaced with a sorrowful expression.

"Let's take this outside... it's nicer out there," he responded, turning to the open doorway, "Going to need a nice atmosphere for this talk."

Exchanging worried looks, Palette and Goth followed the old monster out into an overgrown clearing in front of the house, not having been maintained in years. 

Slumping down into a slightly-less-tall patch of grass, he patted the spot next to him. Once the pair of youngsters got comfortable, Reaper took a steadying breath and told his story.

~~~

_Reaper had gone hunting that morning. Two hours into the hunt the rain had started coming down in a light drizzle, perfect for stifling his footsteps and washing away any trace of his scent in the air. After hours of searching, he had eventually managed to find a warren of rabbits, trapping and catching enough to last his family for a full week. It was a really lucky catch._

_He made his way back home, striding across the wet grass with a wide grin on his face. The rain was starting to pick up. His pace quickened as the familiar tree with a wooden swing came into view._

_He couldn't wait to show his family what he caught, they would be so excited! After getting changed out of his wet clothes, they would skin the catch to store them away in the cooler. Even if they were living so far out in the woods, he had found a way to provide electricity for his family._

_They always deserved the best._

_The house could be seen clearly now... and the laundry was still outside on the line? Usually, Geno would have taken everything inside at the first sign of rain. As he came closer, Reaper's curious expression morphed into disbelief._

_It felt like his soul had dropped out of his ribcage. The door was broken._

_Praying that his instincts were wrong, he rushed for the door. He stopped in the doorway, the sight that met him being one he only imagined in his deepest, darkest nightmares. His catch fell from his limp fingers as he took a step into the ruined cabin that had once been a warm and inviting home. The thing that unnerved him most was the silence._

_There were clear signs of a violent struggle throughout the cabin, holes littering the walls and furniture... mostly his husband's doing, no doubt. The smell of gunpowder was thick in the air. A pot sat on the stove, the fire smoldering in its belly. Geno must have been cooking._

_Moving deeper into the house, something caught his eye just beyond the upended table. It took him a moment to register what it was, then immediately wished he hadn't._

_Dust... a large pile of dust._

_Falling to his knees, he sifted his hands through the fine powder. Finite traces of magic resided within... Geno's magic. His husband was dead. Tears fell as he wailed into his dirty hands, mourning the loss._

_He was brought out of his spiraling emotions by a small ray of hope: his son. There was no trace of Goth's magic in the dust._

_That meant he might be alive!_

_Scrambling to his feet, he dashed out the door, pushing his senses for something, anything that could be used to track down the responsible party. Unfortunately, the rain was now his enemy, washing away any possible trail, so he had to act fast. He took off in a random direction, determined to at least save Goth._

~~~

"But I never found you, as you might have already guessed," Reaper finished with a sad chuckle, wet tracks lining his cheeks from reliving that horrible day, "I never dared to test if you were able to heal back damage from an injury like me when you were younger, Geno had a fit the one time I mentioned it... so I was thoroughly convinced you were dead as well. Dust flying in the wind somewhere I couldn't track you. "

Goth had taken to laying against Palette, skull resting on his shoulder as silent tears poured down his face while the taller wrapped his arm around the smaller in comfort.

His dad continued with a sigh, "It was hard to get up most days, some days I didn't, knowing the only things I had left to remember you and your mom were a piece of clothing, a drawing... and the chaos left behind."  

"Which reminds me...," the cloaked skeleton's voice took on a sharp edge as he locked onto Palette, "Where's this lab located? I'll need to pay them a little visit to make sure this incident doesn't repeat itself."

The mention of the lab had Palette growling, pulling Goth closer to him as he said, "That's right, that makes two times they came after Goth now... they'll probably come after him again. We might not be so lucky to escape again if they manage to find us here."

"No...," Goth murmured softly, cleaning off his face and shaking his head, "I don't think they'll come looking. When we escaped, I made sure to slam into that barrier in a way that made it look like we were destroyed on impact. I don't think they know about me being able to move around using my magic either. As far as they're concerned, we're dead."

_So, he can teleport as well. That explains how they got here... he's clever too, a chip off the old block. Geno would be proud._

"Wait," Palette stared at the smaller in his arms, horror and a hint of anger growing on his face, "you  _planned_  to hurt yourself back there? Goth, that was incredibly reckless, your wings and back were really hurt by that... what if you permanently injured yourself?!"

"And don't tell me it's fine because you can't die, it hurt you enough that you passed out!" the artist snapped, cutting Goth off as he opened his mouth for a rebuttal. The small skeleton scooted away.

Reaper shuffled over to the pair, not liking what he was hearing, "Goth, bring out your wings. I want to make sure nothing's broken."

Goth reluctantly summoned his magic. Reaper didn't miss his son's flinch as he attempted to spread the half-healed wings. The parent hissed as he ran his hand softly over the damaged and missing plumage, frowning at their dull and singed appearance.

His hands lit up in a blue glow, hovering along the left radius as he chided, "While your plan might have worked and I can heal this level of damage, I have to side with Palette on this one. It was dangerous and I'd recommend  _not_  pulling a stunt like that again. You might not be so lucky next time."

The smaller looked down in shame, his face crumbling, "I... I'm sorry... it was the only thing I could think of... I just... I just wanted to leave..."

Reaper jolted at his son's dismay. He glanced toward Palette, who was now wearing his own look of shame. He was a loss on how to handle the situation, it'd been too long since he had to calm an upset child. 

Luckily, Palette was able to take hold of Goth's hands, explaining in a gentle voice, "I'm sorry for yelling. It just upsets me to see you hurt, no matter the reason. I don't like that you felt the need to intentionally hurt yourself as a diversion.

"When we crash landed, and you were limp in my arms... I was so afraid. You wouldn't wake up and you weren't healing on your own... I thought I was losing you. You might not be able to promise never to do dangerous or painful things, but at least promise you won't hurt yourself on purpose like that anymore. Please?"

Goth gave a slight nod, smiling as Palette opened his arms for a hug that he readily accepted.

Reaper let out a sigh, staring at the darkening sky above, "Well, I've healed most of the damage, the rest of the feathers should grow back on their own. What's done is done, so there's no sense fussing. Besides, it's getting late and we've had an eventful day... we should all get some shut eye."

Goth let his wings fade as Reaper began to make his way back to the house. As he reached the porch, a thought occurred to him, "Er... let me see if I can dig out some decent blankets... the house is kind of a mess... and stinks." 

He looked away sheepishly at the unanimous agreement he received from both young skeletons.

Reaper wasn't been able to find any usable blankets, but he was able to gather plenty of clothes. After pulling the mattress off the bed frame and dragging it onto the covered porch, they created a colorful pile of laundry to sleep in. With how tired everyone was, no one was going to complain about sleeping outside under the stars, even if the pile did smell a bit funny.

Goth was the first to fall asleep, curling up like a cat with one of Geno's shirts draped over him. Palette nearly drifted off, only to be woken by a shifting noise startling him awake again. 

Reaper was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"What's wrong?" the young skeleton murmured.

The ex-hunter answered with a tired frown, "I can't sleep knowing the ones responsible for Geno's death and Goth's kidnapping are still out there." 

His phalanges popped as his hands tightened into fists, "Even if Goth claims he made it look like you both died, I don't want to take any chances on them coming back to take away my family again. He's all I have left, I  _can't_  risk it."

Palette bowed his head in understanding. He couldn't help but want retribution as well for the atrocities he'd witnessed. 

Relaying the lab's location to the other, he looked Reaper in the eye, "Look for a balding old man they call 'Professor'. He's the ringleader... but everyone in a long white coat is just as guilty. Give them all hell." 

As the monster nodded, turning to exact his revenge, Palette added, "Oh, by the way... there were others trapped there. If it's possible, can you help them?"

Reaper was silent for a few seconds before he continued walking, "Can't make any promises... but I'll see what I can do." 

With a small pop and a wisp of dust, Reaper vanished.

Palette settled back into his sleeping spot, contented in the knowledge that Reaper would make sure the scientists would never touch Goth again.

\---

Hours later, as the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, Reaper returned to the run-down cabin. His black robe was covered in dark stains, small rips, and scorch marks. 

Those bastards had been after him when they broke into his house all those years ago. They had heard about the immortal skeleton that lived in a solitary cabin... but they had only found Geno and Goth. When the child didn't dust like his mother, they assumed he was the immortal skeleton and took him instead.

_They killed Geno and took Goth because I wasn't there to protect them._

Quelling his anger, he dispelled his scythe and walked up the steps of the porch in hopes of finding a cleaner outfit inside. A soft croon from the pile of clothes on his left made him pause.

Palette had curled up, wrapping himself protectively around Goth in his sleep. His son was pressed tightly into the taller monster's chest, a contented smile on his face. 

Reaper smiled as he continued into the cabin, "You kept him safe when I couldn't. You're a good monster, Palette."


	23. Looking to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, it ends...

"Mommy!"

Reaper paused in carving up the meat that would eventually go into tonight's stew to watch his grandson barrel down the stairs and out the door of the two-story cabin, a paper clutched in his four-year-old hands.

_How things have changed._

Days after Reaper had discreetly eradicated the lab and its workers inside the mountain, which had inadvertently started rumors in the town of the mountain actually being a dormant volcano, the trio had come to an agreement that Reaper's home was well beyond feasible repairs and living capacity... not to mention many painful memories.

Palette had offered his home and within a day, the few items that could be salvaged were teleported over to Palette's house.

Of course, the house was far too small for three people... which had resulted in a huge home makeover the following week. With Reaper sharing Goth's ability to take to the air, getting the framework built and installed for the second story was a simple task.

It had been during this time that Reaper pulled Palette aside while re-shingling their new roof, asking him when he and Goth planned to tie the knot. The flustered skeleton initially denied his affections, but he couldn't fool the god of death... he'd been in love once too, and could see that his son was smitten with the artist as well.

Once Reaper got him to open up, he divulged his fear of Goth living longer than him... of being lonely when he eventually died.

Reaper's response was to push him off the roof.

After a panic attack and lots of yelling and scolding from Goth, the immortal was able to point out that Palette was fine. Patting himself down, he realized his broken arm and ribs had managed to heal themselves.

Confused questions ensued, leading to Reaper asking a few questions of his own.

It was eventually discovered that when Goth healed the artist's bullet wound two weeks prior, he'd implanted a portion of his own healing magic into Palette, explaining Goth's missing eye light and lowered magic capacity.

Goth had also increased his longevity in the process... meaning the life expectancy barrier had shattered for Palette.

It didn't take long after that for Palette to confess his feelings, which the other had accepted eagerly once the concept was explained. A year later, the pair got married. It was a small affair with only the three of them and a priest, considering Goth was still wary of new people.

No one really minded. Everyone that mattered was there.

The two had initially skirted around the idea of children the first year, but with some proper research and advice from daddy death, they were finally ready to try. Goth was a ball of worry the whole pregnancy, so much so that he passed out from stress at one point.

_'I have no idea how to be a parent! What if something happens? I feel weird, something's wrong! What if I can't do it?'_  were the common concerns.

Once little Pastel was born, though, it was as if a switch flipped. His care for the infant nearly rivaled Geno's when Goth was born.

Palette definitely became a doting parent, singing his little rainbow's every accomplishment from the rooftops; with Reaper occasionally joining in. Goth frequently reigned them both in so Pastel wouldn't grow to have an overinflated ego. It honestly wasn't a surprise to Reaper that his son was the more down-to-earth parent... it's a trait he inherited from Geno, after all.

Leaning against the door frame, Reaper watched as Pastel found Goth picking vegetables in the garden.

Over the years, his son had acquired quite the green thumb. He even managed to grow enough excess that they could consistently sell fruits and vegetables whenever Palette went to market with his paintings. A bigger vehicle was required as a result to transport the extra supplies, but the investment had already been returned tenfold.

Reaper spent the majority of his time nowadays hunting game or babysitting his grandson, Pastel... who was now jumping excitedly next to his mother, picture in hand.

"Mommy, I made a picture!" the boy cheered, holding the paper up.

Goth smiled, dusting his gloves off while taking care not to get his white hooded cloak dirty. "Let me see," He asked, taking the drawing from his son, "I love all the colors you used, is this a picture of our family?"

"Uh-huh," Pastel beamed, pointing to each figure, "That's you, that's daddy, that's grandpa, and that's me!"

"Well, once I finish up here, we can find a place on the refrigerator to hang it, alright?" the mother replied, handing back the picture and receiving a squeal of joy from the small boy as he rushed past his grandpa back into the house.

_It's nice to have little feet running around again. I missed it so damn much..._

"Are you alright there, dad?" Goth called out, a smile on his face.

"Yeah, just enjoying the atmosphere," the other hummed contentedly, taking a seat on the steps and listening to the world around him... and the distant sound of a truck coming up a dirt road. "Sounds like Palette's back," Reaper said.

His son perked up, craning his neck and closing his sockets to listen for the telltale rumble of the engine. Hearing the noise as well, he swept up the basket of vegetables and ran it into the house.

The artist rolled around the corner just as Goth came back out. He was barely able to pull his messenger bag out of the passenger seat and shut the door before his partner was on top of him, jumping into his arms and pulling him into a passionate kiss. The taller enthusiastically returned it.

"Hey, I missed you too," Palette laughed, setting his husband down, "Nothing happened while I was gone?"

"Everything's normal, just like always," Goth chuckled, cocking a brow bone, "Honestly, I thought I was supposed to be the worrywart."

The taller skeleton sighed, "I know... I just worry when I'm not here. I know Reaper's strong, but anything can happen in a few hour's time."

"Dad won't ever let anything happen to us and I'll never let anything happen to Pastel. I promise," Goth reassured him, placing a holed hand on his husband's cheek.

"Oh, good news!" Remembering something, Palette dug into his bag excitedly, "I got a big commission offer today for a family portrait. The guy was so impressed with my work, he offered five hundred dollars to paint his family!"

Reaper let out a low whistle.

_Palette's work usually sells for anywhere between seventy-five to three-hundred dollars. He must have impressed a big fish._

"Mommy, are you done yet?!" Both parents laughed at the excited yell coming from inside the house.

"Pastel drew a picture, he might want you to see it before I put it on the refrigerator," Goth commented.

Starry eye lights shined, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Following the couple inside, Reaper stopped by a small dresser next to the doorway holding a long urn, a folded white coat, and two framed pictures.

"You'd be so proud if you could see him, Geno. He's grown up so strong," the old skeleton mumbled, picking up the newer frame to admire the picture within... a hand-made picture, drawn and painted by his son-in-law three years ago of their family of four.

**The End**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, that was a ride! I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If anyone has any questions that haven't been answered in the story or something they want details on, feel free to leave a comment asking. I might even make an extra chapter or two if an idea strikes me. 
> 
> I also have another book that I'm planning out, so keep an eye out for that in the future!
> 
> Until next time, ciao ciao for now~


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